


Dying Light

by theshayshay



Category: D.Gray-man, Jurassic Park (Movies), Jurassic World (2015), Tomb Raider (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 44
Words: 69,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshayshay/pseuds/theshayshay
Summary: Half the time, Ash doesn't seem to like cooperating with Allen. He thinks she's trying. He can't quite tell if she's succeeded half the time. Relationships are hard.A series of word prompts and drabbles revolving around the mainly strained, sometimes relaxed, but mostly odd relationship between Allen and Ash that didn't quite make the cut for the main story line of 'Left Behind.'





	1. Names

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own D.Grayman, Tomb Raider, Jurassic Park/World or any other fandom that will appear in this crossover fanfiction in any way, shape, or form. I also do not own any forms or references of media that are peppered throughout the story either.I do, however, own my original characters and writings, unless otherwise stated.

**Names**

He tried thinking of a name for the woman. He really did.  
  
…sometimes. Admittedly, it wasn’t really at the forefront of his thoughts half the time. He was mainly concerned with understanding her. This island. His own fate. Mostly.

At times when he thought of what to call her, usually it was in the form of unflattering, unspoken nicknames. “Grump” was usually at the top of the list. “Wolf” was another, if only due to her wolfish features. Neither were fitting enough. He briefly entertained the designation of “Sparky” or “Ember” but neither seemed to fit her well.

He even thought of calling her the “Dinosaur Whisperer” up until he found that she didn’t have a complete sway over every species on the island. Just a very small select few actually listened to her.

 _I was never all that good with names_ , he thought on more than one occasion. The weeks dragged on and he still had nothing to call her.

And then it came to him on the night they held a funeral for the nameless poor soul whom she had tried so hard to save and failed.

Ash.

It was simple and easy and she seemed to accept it fine enough. Approved of it, even.  She was always covered in the stuff, when she worked the fires, coaxed them to life, kept them alive. It clung to her clothes, her skin, her hair. She was shrouded in the scent of wood smoke.

It was fitting, in more ways than he could count.


	2. Silence

**Silence**

Once upon a time, he found her silence unnerving. He was reminded eerily of Báthory, of Carmilla, of just about every predatory animal that lived on Yamatai. But mostly, he was reminded strongly of the Dakotaraptors. They were the truly terrifying hunters of the island, able to sneak up upon the Solarii brothers without stirring up a fuss, all vocalizations gone like they’ve become mute and they would tear the poor bastards up without remorse or fanfare. It wasn’t personal, either, it was just animal behavior at its deadliest.

But it was their unblinking avian eyes that chilled him and the sensation remained with him for quite some time after, like a snake had been dropped down his backside and was wriggling about.

Ash had the same stare. She’s learned much from them as much as they’ve learned from her.

Now, he knew better. She wasn’t trying to unnerve. She was studying. She was taking in the details, learning everything she could through sight alone and it was amazing how carefully she could utilize that skillset to absolute affect when fighting and hunting in the field. Well, amazing _and_ terrifying.

Allen sometimes wished she could just ask and talk and be social sometimes, however. It couldn’t hurt. And it’d also be a lot less creepy.


	3. Masquerade

**Masquerade**

Ash paced around him, her hand outstretched, but never quite touching the cloak and cowl of his Crown Clown. She was utterly charmed by the sight of it, and it was hard not to imagine an inquisitive canine in her place coming to inspect something new and interesting. He kept that last image to himself, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate such sentiments. He had a little smile on his face all the while, watching in amusement when the cloak fluttered a little more forcefully and she froze, jerking her hand back, as though afraid it’d burn her. He found that somewhat funny and let the laughter bubble up. 

“You can touch it, you know. It won’t bite,” he finally told her. She lifted her gaze to meet his and held steadily. There was a much different light in her eyes this time around. The first time, she had shot at him with a gun—albeit, it was by his prompting to prove a point, but hindsight told him he probably shouldn’t have gone with such a drastic measure to prove that point. That had been, what, nearly three years prior? Looking back at the gap of time since she's seen Crown Clown, it shocked him.

Now, she was starting to look mesmerized instead of jaded and skeptical like the first time. Carefully, he reached for her still-outstretched hand, coaxing her to come closer. Ash resisted at first, but the encouraging smile he offered broke it down instantly and she came willingly with the next gentle tug he gave her. 

“So soft,” she remarked with surprise colouring her tone when she finally did touch the cloak. He laughed. He couldn’t help it; she looked utterly shocked.  
  
“How—how can this be soft and still act as armour? How does it even work?” 

“It’s complicated, and there are...were...people much smarter than I am who knew more about that sort of thing. I know that Crown Clown protected me from the worst of most Akuma attacks. It was almost like instinct figuring things out the first time this came into being. The first iteration of my Innocence, my entire arm was...just one massive clawed weapon. Rough and unrefined, unlike what I can wield now. Innocence is…strange.”

She was the one who laughed this time. “There’s those names again. 'Crown Clown'. 'Innocence'. Where do you guys get these names? Do you pick it out of a hat or something?” 

He huffed, although he wasn’t really offended. She was gently prodding at the masquerade mask nestled against his collarbone. The silver mask, just before she brushed her fingers with it, leapt up and the hem of the cloak flared out. Ash’s tail bristled, her shoulders tensed up and she slid back a half step. Allen, in contrast, remained relaxed as the cloak fluttered around, encompassing them both in a protective field of white. 

She remained tense, eyes flying to meet his for a second time while her ears pinned back to her head. He smiled. 

“It’s fine,” he reassured her. She narrowed her mismatched eyes. They were filled with suspicion. 

“It’s _sentient_. You didn’t mention it was sentient.” 

Ah, she was very perceptive. Of course she wouldn’t miss that. 

“You’re partly right. It’s not fully sentient like you or me, but it’s aware.” His smile broadened as he felt the cloak and cowl lifting from his shoulders. All that was left was his bladed left hand while the cloak fully tented them in together. She watched with narrowed eyes, and startled when he broached the distance between them, gently touching her arm. “Relax. Crown Clown won’t hurt you. I give you my word.” 

She stared at him skeptically, still and quiet. She returned her attention back to the floating mask above them. She studied it, and the canvas of white around them. It was just a few shades shy of blinding, but it could still be painful to gaze at for too long. 

“I don’t like clowns,” she remarked absently. “But…I don’t think I dislike this thing.” 

Crown Clown leered giddily back, the mask morphing itself to look comically happy. She snorted, not quite smiling, but she was also less anxious and jumpy. With a faint brush of his own fingers, the wall around them rippled and shuddered, leaping back onto his shoulders, the mask returning to its solemn look at the crook of his neck once more. He beamed at her. 

“I suppose that’s a start,” he replied. She watched him, bemused. “I suppose it would take time for you to like clowns.”

She gave him her famous ‘ _are you stupid_ ’ look. 

“My rule isn’t breaking, just because it’s you and your…fluffy white armour.” She sniffed pointedly before adding, “That doesn’t mean I can’t make a one-time exception, and it barely qualifies as that.” 

She was avoiding his gaze now, and rather obviously. He grinned openly at her. 

“Oh, _just_ barely. Is that all?” 

Ash made a grand gesture of rolling her eyes, but before she turned from him completely, he thought he caught a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. Over her shoulder, she said, “The mask sealed the deal. It’s flashy. I like it.” She paused long enough to cast him a look that was full of mirth while her lips had that hint of a not-quite-smile. “Very mysterious.”


	4. Colours

**Colours**

“How did you know?” Ash considered him briefly with the flick of her eyes darting toward him. She returned her steady gaze back on the flames dancing across her naked arm. The fire flickered and twisted, tendrils spiraling in on themselves. They had started out yellow but slowly, they began transitioning to other colours: blue and green, red and pink, and violet and silvery-white. Every once in a while, little shapes would dance into being: miniature bears and dogs and cats, and other animals he’s forgotten to have existed. And of course, there were the dinosaurs—some he recognized, and others, he didn’t. _Other species, perhaps,_ he told himself. 

“Know what?” She inquired back, her focus remaining steadfast. 

“That you were fireproof.” 

“Instinct. The same way a bird knows whether it’s meant for flight or a fish knows it’s meant to swim. It’s…I can’t really explain it, it just…comes to me.” 

He watched as the fire coiled up tightly, retreating to the center of her arm, changing from a fleet of racing mustangs to a nest of snakes. Suddenly it all winked out of existence and it was so very dim around them compared to the guiding light she had provided. Hesitantly, she held out her hand to him. Rarely has she ever shown him such a gesture and he stared at it, but eventually reached to meet her. 

“Do you trust me?” 

He blinked, startled at her inquiry. He found himself nodding, even when the doubt pooled up in her eyes. 

“Of course I do.” He smiled thinly. “Do you trust me?” 

She faltered before sidestepping the question. “Just…don’t freak out. Or pull away. It could get nasty if you try.” 

Allen was just about to ask what she meant by that, when her hand tightened around his and fire sprang to life. It started along her bare arm before darting along his and he nearly jerked away but stopped himself short, recalling her warning. He forced himself to sit still and in those precious few seconds, found his horror grow into awe. 

The fire wasn’t hurting him. It didn’t burn or char away at his flesh like he had been expecting. It actually kind of tickled. He stared, mesmerized, as the flames changed from a natural hue of soft oranges and robust yellows to a pretty ice blue and then it changed again to a loud pink tipped with white. Allen lifted his questioning gaze to meet her cool one. 

“How…how are you doing this?”

“As long as I hold physical contact with a person or an object, I can extend immunity to them. The ground doesn’t count so much, so I can’t cover an entire area. Trying to avert something takes a different kind of effort, but this…this is a bit easier to maintain.” She pursed her lips, appearing less guarded when he smiled at her. “I can’t…always protect people from everything that comes their way, but…if I can keep a good hold on them, I can at least spare them from fire for a short while.” 

“This is amazing.” 

“It’s just what I can do. It ain't nothing special.” 

“You always write these things off as mundane.” 

“I’ve grown used to it.” 

Slowly, the flames retreated and once they were out, Ash pulled her hand away from his. He fixated his stare on his bare arm, amazed to find no sign of the fire having ever been there. 

“Thank you, for showing me that. I appreciate it.” 

She only smiled fleetingly at him, her eyes flashing mischievously.

 

 


	5. Alone

**Alone**

“Don’t you hate it?” 

He watched as Ash paused in her task of skewering meat onto a spit, hovering just next to the fire. The flames in the pit crackled away merrily and a glob of grease landed with a loud hissing sizzle on a branch jutting off to the side. 

“Hate what?” She inquired back, dropping her mismatched gaze back to the meat. She began pushing another strip of meat onto the metal skewer. 

“Being alone all the time.” 

She considered him longer this time, her face a steady mask that showed no hint or clue as to what she was thinking. She was good at doing that, he’s noticed. 

“I’m used to it.” She finally answered him. “The isolation. Being ostracized and hated by those who don’t understand what I am. Being left behind by others I've helped because I can’t leave. Being forgotten. Forgetting everyone else.”

She closed her eyes, taking in a slow breathe. “There’s no point in me getting mad. There’s nothing I can do. And no one has ever come back to help me. I’m stuck on Yamatai. It’s just the way things are.” 

“That sounds utterly pathetic.” 

Ash trained her sharp gaze on him with the narrowed focus of a raptor’s. He’s learned not to flinch in the wake of her stare. Not anymore. 

“You’re so used to thinking like that, so much so that you’ve lost sight of how to hope. What kind of life is that?” 

“One that keeps me alive.” 

He was taken aback by her answer, if only momentarily. 

“So, giving up on hoping that you’ll one day make it off Yamatai—that’s what you’ve chosen.” 

“I chose to face the _reality_ of things.” She replied, and he could hear a bit of anger bleeding into her tone, rippling the usual neutrality she normally donned. “I probably once had hope in the years I’ve since forgotten. Maybe. But now it just seems pointless after decades of no progress or change. I’ve saved dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people and not a single one of them has come back with forces at their heels, no rescue parties, no emergency services, nothing. I don’t sit on the beach, waiting for a ship or an aircraft that’s never going to come, because I already know they won’t. They never have and they never will. _That’s_ the reality of it.” 

He stared at her, at a loss for words. He chewed over her words in his head, and he concluded just how depressing it was think about. To live for so long, perhaps hundreds of years, and know that anyone who she might have known and cared about and loved—they were gone. They weren’t looking for her. And anyone who may have gotten off the island and into the safety of the mainland or a civilized community with access to rescue services and didn’t utilize it for the one who helped them… 

He felt the weight of that statement trying to drag him under and down to the level she was at. Allen shook his head, as though he was mentally shaking off those shackles. 

“Then why bother in dealing with anyone? Why help them? Or me? You could easily avoid the Solarii and the Oni alike. You could live with the raptors and the rexes, without interfering with the islanders here.” 

He still didn’t understand and while he was trying to, the concept of her reasons always seemed to elude him. 

Ash snorted at him derisively and he saw a brief scowl mar her features. 

“Because I can’t stand by and do nothing while innocent people who can’t even defend themselves get gunned down.” 

Allen was a little more than shocked by her admission. She didn’t meet his gaze, but he had a nagging feeling that she wasn’t just saying that to satisfy his request for an answer. She was being honest about it. Ash closed her eyes. 

“I do what I can, where I can, and how I can. Even if I have to kill to ensure the survival of others, I’ll do it. It’s bloody work. I might as well bear the burden of having blood on my hands rather than allowing them to sully theirs. Other werewolves…they wouldn’t want me for a sunbeam. They hate me because I fight for humans, and humans hate me because I’m an inhuman monster. Everyone else is undecided, but it doesn’t really matter what I choose to do with my life on this fucking hellhole. I’ll end up alone no matter what I do, what I choose, or who I represent or save or work for.” She opened her eyes and leveled him with a steady, golden gaze. “I’m alone, no matter what I do.” 

“But…you’re not alone. I’m still here.” 

When she laughed, it was polite, like he just told a rather lame joke and she didn’t want to offend him by staying silent. When she smiled, it was fleeting and tired, but she would humour him nonetheless. 

“You’ll leave someday. Everyone does. Whether it’s by your own volition or not…you’ll be gone one day and…and I’ll still be here.” She dropped her stare, breaking the trance between them. Quietly, she worked for a few moments in silence, the air growing cold and melancholic in spite of the warmth of the fire between them. “I’m just not meant to be around other people who don’t want to kill me. Not for long, anyways. It’s better when I’m alone. Nobody gets hurt. Nobody grows attached. It’s better that way.” 

“No, it’s not. How is being all alone so much better than being with people you care about?” 

She lifted her gaze, not at all startled or taken aback. It was that same steady stare she’s given him for weeks now. 

“I have no one left to care about. They’re all dead.” She stated it in such a matter-of-fact tone, he nearly missed the way her voice had grown so soft, so quiet or how her voice had cracked just at the end of her answer. She dropped her eyes to her hands, still working with the spit and meat, but now they were shaking. Ash erected the spit over the fire, avoiding his stare all the while. 

She cleaned her hands in a basin of water she had on hand, picked it up when she was done, and then straightened. 

“Help yourself. I’m going to bed.” 

“You’re not going to eat?” 

“You need it more than I do,” she called over her shoulder with a vague dismissive wave of her hand. He stared long after she had disappeared behind the tattered curtain that led to her room, chewing over what he’d just learned.


	6. Speak

**Speak**

Hands fluttered at him, but their meanings were lost on him not even halfway through. Ash stopped abruptly, glowering at him. He smiled sheepishly, although he was hiding his annoyance. Sign Language was not easy to remember. One sign looked quite like another and he got several of them mixed up often enough that it caused confusion in communicating with the raptors, the rexes, and Ash alike. 

She continued to glower at him and his smile fell away. 

“Could…could you repeat that? Slower?” 

She heaved a heavy sigh, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Or could you at least tell me what you’re trying to sign?” 

Ash’s eyes snapped open, and he was pinned by her mismatched glare again. When it became rather obvious she was going to do no such thing, he felt his irritation rising up. 

She began signing the letters of the alphabet this time, slowly, mockingly with her infamous ‘ _Are you stupid_ ’ look plastered on her face. 

“I get it! I need to work on my signs. Can you spell it all out then? I think I can manage that much…” 

Ash pursed her lips before she began replaying the signs over again, going slower this time. 

 _This is as irritating for her as it is for me,_ he thought. It struck him as to how she even had the patience to teach this to the raptors or the rexes without exasperating them, considering how she was with him in that moment. Although, to be fair, she seemed more jittery than usual. 

He took a moment to watch her, even when she finished up and waited for him to translate what she’d just said. He frowned. 

“Is something wrong?” 

She flicked her hands at him. ‘ _No._ ’ 

Even in Sign Language, she could throw firm irritation into her unspoken words. 

Carefully, he reached across the way and placed his hands on top of hers. “Please. Not with your hands. _Talk_ to me. You know you can talk to me about things, right?” 

He managed a smile. She assessed him with narrowed eyes and lips pressed into a hard, thin line. Doubt streaked across her face before she ducked her gaze. For a few brief seconds, he believed she was going to actually speak. Instead, she snatched her hands back from him, pushed herself to her feet and quietly stalked away without a word. He was left speechless in her wake. Allen hurriedly got up to his feet, stopped short of going after her, then sunk right back down again. 

Time and again, he wondered if his decision to stick around on a deserted, hostile island with a woman who just barely tolerated him had been such a good idea. The minutes passed and he was startled at the sound of purposeful twigs and leaves being snapped underfoot. 

Ash emerged moments later through the density, carrying a soft covered book and a few pens in hand. He watched as she came to sit in front of him again, crossing her legs as she did and offering the book to him. 

Gingerly, he took it, flipping the soft cover back. He stared over the first page, blinking in surprise, bringing his eyes back to bare on Ash. She watched him like a raptor, the frustration that had lined her face earlier gone now. 

“This…this is how you learned Sign Language.” 

She nodded, flicking her fingers at him. _‘Self-taught. Modified to teach raptors and rexes.’_

It seemed she had taught herself quite a lot. 

“It must have been difficult, with no one else to help.” 

She studied him carefully. _‘Sometimes.’_  

He dropped his gaze and ran his fingers over the text and pictures in the book. “I’ll try to study from this. Thank you.” 

When he looked up, he was surprised to see a small and genuine smile painted on her face. 

_‘Good. Let’s try again.’_


	7. Under the Stars

**Under the Stars**

“Those stars are moving!”

He could see the wink of light slowly but surely making its trek across the sky. Ash snorted softly.

“Those aren’t stars. They’re satellites.”

“What’re satellites?”

Ash was quiet as she considered how to answer him.

“They’re machines in space.” She started off with. “Some of them are unmanned. Some are space stations, floating around in Earth’s orbit.”

“There’s people up there?”

“Maybe. I think so. They could have brought them all back and left the stations to rot.” She paused. “We put a man on the moon.”

“No way.” He was grinning. That was so crazy to consider, a man on the moon. She had to be joking.

“Way. In…1969. Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong. They walked on the moon, bouncing around the vacuum in space.”

“You’re serious.”

“I am.”

“Wow. Who was it? What country?”

“America. We beat the Russians to the moon. Planted a flag right up there and pretty much went, _‘it’s ours, bitches, suck it!’_ ” She giggled, grinning broadly.

“That’s amazing.”

She hummed quietly. “I think I have a history book somewhere back home. It might be in there. I can show you.”

“I believe you.” He tilted his head to glance at her and saw she was still staring up at the sky, a distant and nostalgic look on her visage. When she didn’t stir and simply kept staring, he called to her. “Ash?”

“I’ve had dreams that I sometimes remember. Bits and pieces,” she said, her voice distant. “I’m…flying amongst the stars in those dreams. In a little blue box.”

“A blue box?”

“It’s all I remember. But…the stars were beautiful. And so were the planets.”

He stared after her, not sure of what to make of her cryptic words. Ash blinked a few times after a while, glancing over at him and smiling apologetically.

“Stupid, isn’t it? You can’t fly in a box. Never mind fly it in space.”

“Dreams are strange. It’s all right.”

They settled back down, staring up at the blanket of stars rippling above them.


	8. Don't Go

**Don't Go**

  
It was their second Christmas together and Allen had yet to see the tree. She still wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. She barely recalled what Christmas was for anymore, except the vague exchange of gifts, decorating a pine tree—Yamatai had the wrong species, she remembered that much—and well…people to celebrate with. Last year seemed to have gone on with some amount of success, but this year, she was still unsure. 

She found herself cursing herself for worrying. 

This was _Allen_. Of _course_ he was going to like it. It was hard hitting the buttons that made him go from loving something to hating it, but it was plausible to accomplish. He’d probably love the damned Compies more, if they hadn’t tried to eat his face nearly four years ago. They were deceptively adorable little shits, even by her standards. Besides, she’s worked too hard to back out now, and she wasn’t going to let her time spent planning all this go to waste. She’s let herself back out of too many things because of doubt and second-guessing herself in the past. 

When he finally had emerged from his room, the first thing he did, predictably, was hug her. Ah yes. He was fond of giving those out. She’s since grown used to letting him do so. The light, affectionate kiss on the cheek was something he was slow to introduce, peppering it every now and again sparingly. It was…nice, letting someone in like this. To become familiar with them up close and personal. A part of her, she’s come to find in recent years, is that she felt satisfied with the attention and starved of it when she didn’t have it. It tore away what little armour she had left around her, exposing a very vulnerable bit of herself she hasn’t allowed to see the light of day in years. Decades. Perhaps centuries. It was new and different and terrifying, leaving herself open like that, in letting herself remain that way in front of someone else. She had forgotten what it felt like to allow herself to be open like this. 

She was even more surprised when Allen didn’t take advantage of that. It wasn’t just the inexperience at an intimate relationship that kept him at bay at times, but it was the genuine concern he exhibited when around her. He knew she wasn’t used to that level of intimacy, hasn’t been for years, and he wanted to show he respected her need to grow used to that. It wasn’t just for her though. It was just as much for the both of them, to see where things went. He was trying. The most she could do was offer the same courtesies he afforded her, to not push him away. 

After they had both eaten and he had torn open his gifts and well after he had sobbed over the sketchbook she gave him featuring those he’d lost, she broke open a bottle of red wine. The label had been torn, so she wasn’t sure what year it was, but it had been sweet and warm and delicious to the taste. He declined at first, trying to remain steadfast in his decision to opt out of drinking with her. They spoke for a while, making plans for several things—more exploration, practice runs at the range, the next hunt, and she even teased the idea of going down to the sea caves to find salvage that washed in with the current. 

When he had finally decided that perhaps one small glass wouldn’t hurt, it was all she could do to hide her giddy delight. She had never truly wanted to pressure him into drinking with her; she wanted him to decide of his own volition. She wanted him to always have the choice to say yes or no to something that was easily within his grasp. It was possibly this flaw of hers that has given him invitation to extend his stay with her for years instead of days. 

Choice. 

She has tried, over the years, to never truly take it away from any survivor who came upon and wanted to leave Yamatai. Even when it seemed like she was herding them along with her own agenda in mind, she tried to never truly control anyone. Having the ability to choose for oneself was important.

Ash was glad he had chosen to drink, even if it was just the one glass, but she would have been fine if he had never touched a drop that night at all. Disappointed, but fine. As it turned out, Allen really was a lightweight. He barely finished the one and only glass he had for the night before falling under the wine’s sway. 

She found that hilarious, up until he started growling at the tree to stop looking at her. Or was it the tree decorations? She couldn’t tell after some point and she had to drag him back to the couch to keep him from slicing it up after he summoned his clawed left hand. He even whined at some point for the little golden golem decoration to come down and meet her, but the wooden carving remained adamantly stuck at the top of the tree. She distracted him with tender kisses on his mouth, his nose, his eyelids, even on the scar on his brow and cheek. She whispered sweet nothings and promises that he wouldn’t remember later on but she would. She’d hold herself to them, whether he recalled or not. 

After she had his attention fully on her, when he’d forgotten all about his intent on pummeling the tree, he broke down. She hadn’t been expecting that. 

They weren’t tears of joy like they had been earlier. He was purely grief-stricken. 

Suddenly, seeing him intoxicated wasn’t so funny. Not when he was like this. 

“Please…please don’t ever make me leave. I can’t lose anyone else…I _can’t_.” 

The way he gripped her, it was like a dying man trying to cling on to the last bits of life he had left, to not slip away. He was holding her like he was afraid she’d disappear at any moment. 

As awkward as she felt, she also realized that he was offering her a piece of him he hasn’t shown her before. He could be deceivingly open about many things, but deep down, she had a feeling he had plenty of things hidden away in his head that he had yet to share with her. He had secrets he wasn’t ready to divulge, fears he wasn’t ready to admit he had—even to himself. 

She gathered his face in her hands, gently and with care, the realization dawning on her just how broken he really was and how well he hid it, even from her. “I won’t. I won’t make you go.”

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise, I won’t.” 

“Promise?” He pressed, his voice just barely above a whisper. 

“I promise. Okay? I promise I won’t.” She pressed her lips to his once, twice, and lingered longer the third time. “I don’t want you to go. And I won’t make you go if you don’t want to.” 

He leaned in, stealing another kiss and pulling her in tight. When he pulled away, he blurted something out. She blinked at him, having not caught it and he repeated it, asking, “Do you love me?” 

She stared, taken aback by the inquiry for only a moment. It didn’t take any longer for her to answer him and she surprised herself with her own answer. She didn’t want to be weighed down by any doubts or worries or fears. 

“Yes.” 

 “You promise?” 

She gathered his face in her hands again, and he leaned into the touch, watching her as sharply as one could when they were under the influence. Ash has come to find that she loved his silvery-grey eyes. They were always filled with a hope she thought she had lost in herself a long time ago. Every time he looked at her, however, she found it was beginning to rekindle itself inside her. She found it equal parts terrifying and funny how he could do that and perhaps not even realize what an impact he’s had on her. 

“I love you, Allen Walker, and if anyone else ever says otherwise, they can go fuck right off. Okay?” 

He stared at her with his hazed over stare, before giving her a slightly lopsided grin. He leaned forward to kiss her again, but it was less artful this time. He pulled away, sighing and rested his head on her shoulder. 

“Tell me that again in the morning…when I’m sober.” 

Ash snorted, but she said she would. She allowed him to remain there for a few minutes, to hold her tight. He needed this more than he would have ever let on when sober, more than he’d probably care to admit. She wasn’t the only one who has been starved of affection and for much too long, it seems like. 

After some time passed, she gently roused him. He was half-asleep, but woke all the same, his hair a little mussed. She laughed softly and smoothed a particularly outstanding lock of white. He watched her with some amount of returning clarity. 

“You want to go to bed?” 

He nodded. “Yes, please. Oh…my book. I want—I want my book.” 

“You can bring your book,” she said softly, reaching over to grab it off the coffee table and she handed it to him. He held it tightly to his chest and sniffled, his eyes beginning to mist over. 

“Thank you. You don’t realize how much this means to me. You gave them back.” 

Ash helped him up, letting him lean on her as she walked with him, her arm draped along his waist to keep him steady. 

“I think I have an idea of how much it does.” 

He sniffled again as they strode towards his room. 

“Can I have another kiss?” 

“...You will probably never realize this, but you are a rather cute drunk.” 

“Am not.” 

“I wish I had a video camera so I can show you all this.” 

“Whassat?” 

“A wonderful device to record and blackmail people doing stupid stuff with.” 

“…that sounds fun.” 

Ash broke out grinning. This was more along the lines of what she had in mind for Allen. She didn’t want him brooding and broken and sad. It was painful to watch and it reminded her too much of herself, but with less pieces of her puzzle to work with. She wanted him to smile again. 

“Well, then, remind me to buy us a video camera if we ever get off this wet rock and we’ll go be jackasses together.” 

He sniffed pointedly, looking mildly offended. “I’m not a jackass. You can be, though.” 

“Woooow. Welcome to the Dark Side, Allen, I think we might have cookies somewhere around here.” He brightened at the mention of cookies, craning his neck to look around them. She sighed. “Not literally. It’s an expression.” 

He wilted as they crossed the threshold of his room. 

“That was mean.” 

“Says the drunk man.” 

“S’your fault.” He complained. She helped him to sit on his bed. He snatched up her hand and gave it a squeeze, watching her pleadingly. “Don’t go. Please.” 

She studied him carefully before she nodded. “Okay. I won’t.” 

“You promise?” 

She sat down and slowly, wrapped an arm around his waist once again, resting her head against his shoulder. She felt him slump a little, his head coming to lean on hers, his arm pulling her in closer still. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and it was a soothing noise. Ash closed her eyes. 

“I promise.”


	9. Don't Make a Sound

**Don't Make a Sound**

The Oni were out in force tonight. They stalked around with a quiet tread, all except for the giant, the Big Guy. He growled and rumbled as he went, dragging his huge weapon behind him. It scraped and screeched along the ground, sounding like a death knell to his ears and to anyone else who heard the Big Guy.

 _He wants them to know he’s coming after them,_ Allen thought. _He wants to scare them._

Ash crouched beside him, and he glanced over to see her putting a finger to her lips, her eyes flicking toward him briefly.

 _Don’t make a sound,_ was what that one gesture told him. She didn’t need to say anything else. He adjusted his position on the hunting blind they were perched on, watching as the formation move beneath them.

He nodded and readied his bow as she did the same. He nocked one arrow, and she three. Silence was key. Her bow creaked slightly as she held the position for another split second longer. She released her bowstring, and the three arrows whizzed off into the darkness, striking home in the heads of three Oni. They crumpled into the sprawling, tangled undergrowth. A few of the Oni paused suddenly, halting their formation.

Their armour clinked as they moved to investigate. Allen held his breath. Ash was already nocking three more arrows, assessing who was in range as she slowly pulled the bowstring back. When she loosed them, they struck just as true as her last shots.

The Big Guy stopped in his trek, huffing like a big, armoured bear and snarled behind his mask. There were four other Oni left besides the Big Guy now and they were all archers. She nodded to him and they both drew back their bowstrings, arrows nocked and ready to loose when one of the archers spotted them both and shouted a warning.

Allen cursed just as he loosed his arrow and it hit the armoured breastplate of the Oni. It did little more than perturb the archer. He cursed again when the Oni archer staggered, recovered quickly and drew an arrow of his own without hesitation. Ash took her shots, and they struck home, felling the three she had been aiming at before they could move to their location. The last archer loosed his arrow before Allen could react.

Instinct drove him to summon his Crown Clown, but just as mantle settled on his shoulders, the cloak snapping open to block the arrow, Ash had already caught the arrow in midair, inches from hitting him. He stared as she wordlessly shot back the arrow with effortless practiced ease, the bowstring twanging noisily.

The Big Guy roared and she sighed.

“Cat’s out of the bag,” Ash muttered before a feral grin spread across her face. “Now we can make some noise. Try not to get your leg broken this time.”

“That was once!”

“It only takes once.”

He scowled at her backside as she dropped over the edge to meet the Big Guy head on. Allen shook his head.

Reckless, stubborn woman.

He watched for a few seconds as Ash blocked a sideswiping hit from the Oni’s giant mace-like clubbed weapon with an arm, drew the rifle from her backside and jammed the barrel under the Oni’s chin. Before the Big Guy could get a counterstrike in, she was already emptying the clip into his head. It was over so quickly, Allen’s feet had barely touched the ground when he jumped off the hunter blind. The Big Guy was on the ground, the barrel of Ash’s rifle was smoking and a strange hush had fallen over the sector of forest they were in.

Allen picked his way over carefully, eying what few bodies he could glimpse, especially the Big Guy. He didn’t move and neither did any of the others. Ash slung the rifle back over her shoulder after reloading a fresh magazine in it.

“Easy-peasy.”

“You make it look that way.” He smile wanly. “You should stop showing off, you know.”

Ash turned away from him but he could hear the amusement in her tone when she answered, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

After retrieving a few of her arrows from the bodies, she motioned for him to follow. It was time to move on and now that they had relatively safe passage, it would be best to clear out before another Oni squad came through.


	10. Hold My Hand

**Hold My Hand**

It was a rare clear night on Yamatai. No storm on the horizon, no overcast clouds blotting out the sky, nothing. It was warm out too, and it almost felt…nice. A blanket of stars carpeted the sky, a wonderfully mixed tapestry of silver and flowing purples and blues and blacks, while the moon hung low, swollen and nearly full. 

Even the nightlife that came alive after the sun fell below the skyline were subdued, hushed into submission.

“It’s beautiful tonight,” he said absently. Ash hummed beside him, whittling away at a new cache of arrows, these made of bones from the giant sauropod that was felled by Carmilla earlier that day. Bone arrows were more difficult to make, but stronger and more resilient from wear and tear and warping. He frowned at her. “You’re not even looking.”

“I’ve seen many nights like this. And I taught you to see the stars,” she replied back without even looking up.

He sighed, turning his gaze back to the stars overhead. He could never make heads or tails of the constellations before, but Ash had been adamant in her lessons. She drilled them into him in his first year here, determined to make sure he didn’t do something stupid, like get lost in the forest, in the middle of the night, _again_.

“If the night’s clear, then use the stars to get back home. No buts! No whining! Just do it.”

He could recognize Orion now, from the three stars lined up together to make his belt. He spotted Canis Major and Canis Minor both. He traced his eyes over Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, and hiding within them were the Little and Big Dippers, respectively. He knew them all by heart now, and he was proud to say, he couldn’t get lost with these skills in hand and he had Ash to thank for that.

Okay, well, to be honest, he couldn’t get lost as much or as easily anymore. He still got turned around sometimes.

He was startled, if only briefly, by the sudden howling scream coming from the forest below. It dragged out for only a few seconds but it left his heart pounding. Allen nearly jumped again when something touched his hand, and he glanced down to see Ash’s hand touching his hand, her pinky finger wrapping around his. She didn’t look at him or appear concerned about the howl from below. Instead, she was watching the skies, her whittling put to the side to free up her hands. Allen pulled his away, and let his fingers steeple with hers when he covered her hand, returning to stargazing.

He caught a glimpse of the smile curling the corners of her lips up and it brought out a smile from him as well.


	11. Fairy Tale

**Fairy Tale**

She was nervous. She’s never shown anyone, willingly, her wolfish half. Not fully, not like this.

But he insisted. He wanted to know whatever he could about her, whatever she could remember and knew about herself and this was one of them.

“I’ve already seen it before and I’m still here, aren’t I?” He’d reassured her and with the way he’d smiled at her…

She was starting to get weak in her resolve when he smiled like that. God, she sometimes hated how he’d broken his way through her defenses and left her feeling like she did these days. She still wasn’t sure how or when it had all started to happen.

She was almost afraid he would run, despite that last time.

Although technically, the last time he had seen her in her fur, she had been the one to run away. She had ran right into the protection of the darkness of the forest, well away from prying eyes. At the time that incident had happened, she had been glad he hadn’t followed, not until well after the full moon had passed and during the day. Now, she regretted it. For all his cleverness and knack at survival, something could have happened. He could have been hurt or worse, and it was all because she had ran off like a frightened, angry child.

The fact that he had come after her showed he was committed, that he wasn’t afraid. Yet, even if he was, he didn’t let it show.

 _I can do this_ , she told herself, the pads of her pawed hands worrying at the ugly scars on her wrists, her arms, her bare belly and everywhere else. She couldn’t hide her scars now, not with clothes or armour. They were plain to the eye but no less ugly to see.

“Ash?”

 _I can do this_ , she told herself again, her jaw shivering and large fangs scraping against one another before she answered back between wolfish lips, “Yeah. I’m…coming out now.”

Her limbs felt heavy like lead weights refusing to work properly as she carefully shuffled out of her room. Her claws scraped along the stone flooring, while her tail pressed close to one of her legs. Allen was waiting just outside near the fire pit, feeding wood to the dying embers. When he turned around, he stopped and stood stock still, his breath caught in his throat. She froze too, heart hammering away in her rib cage.

 _I shouldn’t have shown him,_ she suddenly thought as her heart continued racing. _He hates it. He hates this face, and why not, I’m a monster, who the hell could ever look at a monster and not want to bash their face in, I shouldn’t have changed, I shouldn’t have changed,_ I shouldn’t have changed—

“You’re so fuzzy!”

She blinked rapidly, earnestly confused at the sudden smile breaking across his face and the loud enthusiasm in his voice. He was already striding forward, an awed look in his eyes as they raked over her. She had to resist the urge to shy away, to hide, to shrink back to the safety of the shadows.

 _Don’t look at them, don’t, they’re ugly, I’m ugly with all these scars and this_ fucking face _—_

“I couldn’t see much the night I first saw you, but…it was like seeing a kind of folk tale come to life. You hear about werewolves in Europe, and the different kinds of other stories about people who can change into animals, but actually seeing it for real…I mean, I knew you could do it, but I’d never seen you try, not like this before.”

She still hadn’t moved, but she could see the smile on his face lessening and the brightness in his eyes was dimming when she wasn’t responding. He only stopped when he was mere feet away, just barely close enough to reach out and touch her.

“May I?”

Ash blinked at him again, following his hands as they reached out, open and inviting and the question in his eyes was clear as day. Slowly, she dipped her head closer, her black nose twitching as she sniffed carefully. She was so much taller than he in this form, nearly seven and a half feet tall. She smelled no deceit or lies in his scent mark, only purely solemn eagerness, delight even. It was a childish and giddy excitement and it was so endearing, that she wanted to believe it was authentic. She almost cringed away when his hands brushed at the fur on her face, carefully scratching at her furred cheeks before trailing up to her ears, gently brushing along the soft fur there. He drew a breath in soft wonderment.

“You really weren’t kidding. You’re all wolf, every bit. This…this is so strange, but—but in a good way! I didn’t mean it in any other way, I promise!”

She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes and leaned in closer until she felt his cheek against hers and heard him drawing breath slowly and evenly in time with her. It felt…good. It felt good to let another’s hands run through her fur, to rub her ears, to actually be this close.

“You don’t…hate me? Even…even with this face?”

When he pulled away, he looked shocked. “Why would I hate you? I finally get to see what you look like as a…well, as yourself. I’ve seen you at your worst, and I’ve seen you at your best. I’ve never seen you in your fur and now I have. I think it’s safe to say I’ve seen everything I can see, and…I love it.”

She didn’t know what to say. She could barely hear anything above the rush of blood roaring away in her ears or the drum tempo her heart had taken up in her ribcage.

“You don’t…hate these?”

She hesitated, her pawed hand twitching to motion to the scars. He noticed the movement, managed to glean what she meant and she very nearly succeeded in flinching away when she felt his fingers brush through a mix of fur and scar tissue on her belly. The claw marks of some great werewolf, she knew, but had never stated outright aloud to him. She didn’t remember where she got them, or from whom, but she suspected she had bad dreams about them every night.

“Your scars are a part of you. You can’t change that and I can’t either, and frankly…I wouldn’t, even if I had the choice. They must have been painful to endure when you received them, I’m sure, and you have to carry them day in and day out, but it meant you’ve survived something terrible and came out on top. They’re a testament to your strength, whether you believe in that or not. I admire that.”

Ash stared, her jaw hinging open in surprise, eyes widening further when he took her great pawed hand—bigger than his in this form, for sure—and turned it over to run over the rough pebble-skinned black pads that lined her palm and the ends of her fingers. He was careful to not prick himself on the curved talons at the tips, a small smile playing on his face as he observed them.

“I…I don’t…”

“It’s okay. You’re nervous. You’ve…probably never let anyone see you like this, and you’re not used to this. Someone saying they admire you, to your face, not like this. If you don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to stay like this. You can go change back, if you’d prefer. I won’t mind.”

One moment, she was on her feet and the next, she was on her knees, hugging him, and for a moment, he didn’t do anything. It was a bit hard to get past the shock factor of having a large bipedal wolf hugging him. Somehow, Allen managed and he was returning it as best he could. She was careful to not accidentally catch him with her claws or crush him too tightly and he ran his fingers through her thick snarled mane and rubbing at the base of her ears.

Maybe some fairy tales got it all wrong. Maybe, just maybe, sometimes a monster actually got to be happy with someone and not have to worry about the world being against them. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but at least for these few precious moments Ash could pretend it was true.

  ****


	12. I Can't

**I Can't**

“…what do you _mean_ , you were a _virgin_?”

Allen took pause, sparing a vague glance toward Ash, fully intent on returning to eating but he stopped completely in his tracks at the look on her face. There was an abject mixture of shock and horror painted there, and the longer she didn’t move and continued to stare, the more self-conscious he became.

“Umm…it’s…what I said. I…I was never with anyone before we…you know.”

“I…what? _What?_ ” She blinked a few times, stood up, and shook her head. “What?! No! You-you…what do you mean, you were a _virgin_?! You—no, no, you’re lying, I can’t have been the one to pop your cherry! _No!_ ”

The more she spoke, the redder Allen’s face became and it got the point where he simply pushed his plate of food aside and put a hand to his face.

“I’m not lying,” he mumbled back. “It’s true. You were…you were the first. _My_ first. Can we please stop talking about this now?”

“I…I don’t think…I can’t. I-I-I…”

She stole a glance of him over her shoulder, opened her mouth to speak (or stutter, quite honestly), closed it, opened it again, closed it a second time, and then retreated toward her room while shaking her head muttering to herself. He didn’t quite catch all of it, but he did think he made out, “I think that just broke my brain. A _virgin!_ Oh my god, I’m a _cradle robber_.”

He groaned softly.

“Wouldn’t it be the _other_ way around, since I was apparently born almost a hundred years before you were?”

“…oh my god, _you’re_ the technical cradle robber!”


	13. Falter

**Falter**

“Why didn’t you _move?_ Why were you just standing there, babbling away at those assholes?”

Before Allen could answer, Ash was doubling over, retching against the wall with a wet wheeze in every breath. Her face pinched up into an unwelcoming snarl that suggested she’d possibly quite literally attempt to bite fingers off if they touched her. He wisely chose to keep his appendages close at hand, despite the churning bubble of worry building up in the pit of his stomach.

He was more than a little alarmed when blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth.

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed out, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice. Ash growled.

“Fuckin’ bullet’s wedged—I can feel it right behind a rib. Must be piercing a bit of my lung. Fuck.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

For a split second, her features softened enough with a look of consideration. There was still tension between them. He was…partially responsible for her condition.

He had been helping scavenge supplies and materials out of one of the ruins with Ash. He had wandered a little too far off and ran head long into a group of Solarii brothers. They were quick to turn on him but he had almost managed to get them to stop attacking—if only they didn’t have some idiot who was thirsting for an opportunity for mindless killing. Allen gained precious few seconds, just enough for Ash to come barreling through to save him.

Again.

She took the bullets meant for him.

Again.

Shoved him right out of the way, even though time and again, he’s told her—shown her at times even—that he could survive if he summoned his Crown Clown, the cloak and mantle. Yet she did it anyway, like she always did.

Allen hesitated before he decided to chuck away any sense of moderation out the window. Sod it all, she could hit him later after they got the bullet out of her.

…which is to say, he wasn’t looking forward to whatever method they’d have to resort to in order to get it out of her in the first place. She growled a warning when he draped an arm around her shoulders, quickly scooping her up to have her lean on him. He ignored it and even tightened his hold on her when she tried to break away.

“Stop it, you said it yourself, you’re going to need to get the bullet out, now tell me how I can do that.”

She glared at him for a near solid ten seconds before she dropped her gaze, a mixture of stubborn defeat and anger rising up to don her features. He helped her to one of the intact rooms, well away from the battleground and the sight of the dead Solarii brothers lying about.

“Gotta dig it out,” she wheezed before another fit of wet coughs wracked her. “S’getting harder to breathe…”

“Where is it?”

“Behind my ribs…” she motioned to her right side. “Get my kit.”

“Tell me what I need to do.”

“Get my kit,” she repeated firmly, squeezing her eyes shut. He assisted her first in sitting down before turning back to fetch her pack. It took him a few minutes to find—she must have ditched it as soon as she realized he was in trouble—before trotting back. She reached for the first aid kit he had pulled out from her pack. She popped it open even with her hands shaking and immediately drew out a sharp little instrument.

“Have you done this before?”

She nodded, her jaw locked with tension. He saw how badly her hands were trembling and went to steady them. She withdrew, pinning him with another glare.

“You can’t do anything if you can’t keep your hands from shaking like that. Let me help.”

Ash hesitated, gritting her teeth. Allen tightened his grip marginally. “I know you’ve done this before, but you didn’t have help. Tell me what I can do. Please.”

She narrowed her eyes, the seconds ticking by. She finally conceded quietly by lifting her shirt and motioning to a spot along her side.

“I can…I can feel it right there. It’s not letting things heal like they should. I’ll bleed out if it stays.”

“Just…keep the opening from closing. I’ll dig out the bullet.” He sucked in a breathe, sharp and soft, between his teeth. He met her sharp gaze levelly.  

“Don’t hesitate,” she pressed, handing the scalpel to him. Her gaze softened, but he wondered if it was because her focus was becoming difficult to maintain. “You won’t hurt me. Not for long.”

She tapped at a space between ribs again. “Do it.”


	14. Traps

**Traps**

“Why are we setting up snares? The most we’ll catch are Compies, right?”

“Yes and no,” Ash replied breezily. “You remember those little guys that run around in the trees—you’ve seen them, right?”

“Yes, I remember,” Allen answered, although he was a little uncertain of which ‘little guys’ she was referring to. Apparently, there were several different species running around in the trees and forests, according to Ash. He was still trying to recall what their names were when Ash paused in her trap-making to glance at him, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

“There’s Othnielia, Dryosaurus, and Coeulurus. Othies, Dries, and Coles.”

“Ah. Thank you,” he mumbled back, feeling his face flush a little. “One of them was a carnivore, yes?”

She nodded. “Coles. But these traps are simple and strong enough to snare them up.”

“Why are we catching them? What happened to all the deer? And the rabbits?”

“We ate the last deer about two months back. I’m surprised you failed to notice.”

He blinked at her several times in surprise at first. “Are you sure?”

“Very. There’s still rabbits around, and plenty of rats, but that’s only because they’re able to procreate a lot faster than deer can. The larger mammals are always the first to go in this place.”

He sighed. “Dinosaur meat is so gamey.”

“I have yet to see you protest any further. You still eat it.”

“I’m always hungry,” he complained. “And it’s the only thing left to eat, apparently.”

“You could always go vegetarian.”

“Now you must be joking and it’s not even a funny joke, Ash.”

“I could start telling pun jokes, if you’d prefer.”

“Please don’t, they’re all terrible.”

“They’re hilarious!”

“They’re terrible! And I was a clown, I know funny!”

“Your sense of humour is skewed.”

“Don’t you have traps to set up?”

“You just don’t like to hear someone be funnier than you.”

“Just—help me set up these snares, please.”

“Pfft. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“No.”

“I aaaaaaam, oh snap!”

“No! And I won’t share anything I catch if you don’t help, you’ll go hungry!”

“ _Please_. I’m a totally better hunter than you. If anything, you’d go hungry without me.”

He nearly fell over when he spied Ash abruptly beside him, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Admit it.”

He leveled her with a sullen stare. “There’s a rabbit behind you.”

“No there’s not. Don’t be trying to change the subject.” Her ears twitched twice atop her head, almost thoughtfully. “Plus, it’s a Compy.”

She straightened with a sigh, twirled on the spot and took off her bow, firing an arrow all in one smooth, fluid sequence. There was a surprised squeal from wherever the arrow landed. Allen winced in sympathy as she strode off, her tail swaying back and forth as she went. Ash came back with a Compy in hand, dangling by its feet in her hand. Blood dribbled from where she had shot it and retrieved the arrow from.

“Tastes like chicken.”

“No they don’t.” Allen sniffed pointedly, frowning as he turned back to his snares. “They taste like duck.”

Ash sniggered. “You would know, Mister Food Connoisseur.”

“I like good food.”

“And my food ain’t good enough?”

“You do well with what you have available,” he conceded, giving ample pause before adding, “I just wish we had more spices available.”

“Yeah, well…” Ash’s jovial pluck had all but gushed out of her in that moment. She sighed, shoulders sagging. “Yeah. I know. I do my best.”

“I’m not trying to insult you, Ash! You really do—”

He stopped when she held up a hand to quiet him. He waited as she tied the dead Compy to her belt with a braided cord of leather. “I know you mean well. And I know amenities are slim picking around here. I’m sorry I can’t exactly provide everything, but…I try.”

“Ash, I know you do.”

Allen watched her carefully, seeing how she suddenly locked up tight, not letting anything else betray her. She avoided his gaze and instead focused on the snare traps in front of him. She sighed, striding closer and crouched beside him.

“You’ll never catch anything with that kind of setup. Here.”

She was already fixing things before he could blink, replanting the trigger and setting the noose out a little more loosely. He grabbed hold of her hands and she stilled just as abruptly.

“I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Ash still wouldn’t meet his gaze. She stared down at the leaf litter on the ground, at the bit of string in her hands. “You didn’t upset me, Allen. You don’t have to apologize for everything. You just…reminded me of how rare social commodities are to get in this place. I know…how fucked up it may sound, but when a ship crashes on Yamatai, I…hope that the people are safe, yes, but…I also hope that their ship doesn’t go down. So that salvaging can be done. Food, batteries, appliances, spices. Things like that. We haven’t seen any in a long while.”

Her grip tightened on the bit of string. “I hope we don’t have anyone get stuck on the island. I wish…we could just have the boats and the things inside it and not have to worry about someone getting hurt in the process. This place is a death trap to most people who aren’t survivors like us.”

He stared after her in astonishment. She’s never truly referred to him in the same context as herself like this before. Slowly, a grin broke out across his face, slow and sly.

“You know, I think you might be right.” He started off with, and she finally glanced over at him, ticking a brow up. “You might actually be funnier than I am. That was a good one.”

Ash was slow to return the smile, but it came all the same. “Shut up, would you? Making me sound soft.” She nudged him gently in the side with her elbow. “C’mon. Let’s finish these traps and check on the others we set further back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: If anyone has any kinds of requests, please feel free to send them in to my Tumblr account, username theshay-shay. I'd love to hear from y'all!


	15. Mr. Mom

**Mr. Mom**

“So…you live with that lady?”

“Ash,” he said with a nod. “Her name’s Ash. And yes. I do.”

“Oh. That’s a funny name.” Jinora paused. “Are you… _together_?”

Allen caught himself before he became a spluttering mess when he managed to pick apart her insinuations. “No. No, we’re not. We just live together and we work together.”

“So you’re not married or in a relationship beyond the working one. Got it.”

He sighed. The raptors were shadowing them, leading the way through the coastal forest. They had gotten turned around and now they were taking the long way back. His infamous directionless sense has struck again. They would be out still well past dark, he came to realize.

Wonderful.

Creed, one of the raptors of the pack, came ghosting into sight to stalk alongside Allen. Jinora stared up at the raptor, a lean grey-and-rust-red feathered machine that was as silent as he was deadly. Just like all the Dakotaraptors. Allen patted the raptor’s side gently, earning a soft growling purr from the half-ton predator, golden eyes sliding half-shut.

“You called this animal a Dakotaraptor. What, exactly, is a Dakotaraptor? I’ve never heard of it before.”

“It’s…it’s a dinosaur. I’m sorry, I’m not the subject matter expert on them, other than knowing they’re distantly related to modern birds, they’re very fast, and that they’re carnivores. They went extinct millions of years ago. Ash would be a better source of information though, she’s the one who knows all about them. And every other dinosaur on this island, for that matter.”

 _And those that are not._ She had a massive amount of data about species that weren’t even present on Yamatai. It was honestly quite staggering.

Jinora considered him thoughtfully. She was recovering well, considering she had almost been burned alive by Mathias and the Solarii Brotherhood. She diverted her focus to their path ahead as they forged through the underbrush. Creed brayed loudly all of a sudden, cough-barking to the empty air. Allen gave the raptor a little glower at the unwarranted break in silence. Creed slid his eyes half-shut, purring softly.

 _The raptor is looking down his nose at me! How smug and… how odd. And rather new_ , Allen thought with a mixture of shock and exasperation. Creed continued alongside him, occasionally pausing to listen or leap onto an overturned tree trunk, or a large boulder, getting a bird’s eye view on the layout from afar. He chittered away and with modified limited signs, made his intentions known to Allen.

“This way,” Allen said after the third time this pattern has made itself known. Jinora quietly stared between him and the raptor.

“He’s talking to you,” she observed with an appraising look. “Do they all talk? The dinosaurs, I mean.”

“Only a select few. Ash taught it to them.”

“She taught you too,” she observed and he nodded. “Is she a firebender?”

“I’m…not sure what a firebender is, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t know what benders are?” Jinora looked positively stunned and she stared up at him, as though waiting for him to go ‘ _just kidding!_ ’ When he didn’t, her expression morphed into actual fascination.

“So you’ve been living with a firebender and you have no idea what they are?”

“She’s never called herself that before. She used…what’s the word…pyro…pyrokinetic. She’s called herself that several times.”

“She practices firebending very strangely. No incorporated techniques, no routines…it’s strange.”

“She can summon fire without moving,” Allen replied in a helpful voice. Jinora considered his words, distracting herself momentarily when Creed darted out in front of them to lightly jump onto another fallen tree trunk. He chittered softly, head on a swivel as he surveyed the growing shadows of the forest. The wind rustled through the canopy of leaves above them. Jinora smiled a little, stray strands of her hair dancing about.

“She must be a completely different level than any firebender I’ve met before, then, if she can do all that without needing to move.”

Allen didn’t have it in him to correct Jinora, to say that Ash wasn’t called a firebender.

“Are you a firebender?”

“No. I’m an airbender. My father, my sister, and my brother are all airbenders. Our newborn baby brother might be, but we haven’t seen any evidence to that yet. Chances are he might be, though.” She granted him a curious head tilt as they passed their raptor sentinel. Creed squealed, wheeled around and came trotting after them on silent feet. “Do you have any siblings? Or a family? What about kids?”

“Wha—I’m not—I don’t have any kids! How old do you _think_ I am?”

“Sorry. I just assumed, with the white hair…but I guess you do sound kind of young.” Jinora smiled sheepishly, apologetically. Allen felt he could forgive her for the slight. He sighed.

“I’m an only child, as far as I know. And my family is…gone. I’m all that’s left, I’m afraid.”

“Oh…I’m sorry.” The little girl paused thoughtfully. “So you don’t count Ash as family? Maybe not blood related, sure, but…not even a little?”

Allen considered that.

What was Ash to him, if not just a friend?

He wasn’t sure and it stumped him.

She could be considered a friend…if one could even be allowed to proclaim a highly volatile, moody, intelligent, angry instinct-driven werewolf a friend. He wondered if he was even allowed to venture into calling her ‘friend’ to her face, never mind something even close to ‘family’. His friends from his old life, he _might_ have ventured that far. But Ash?

“You’re blushing,” Jinora snickered.

Allen frowned at the break in his thoughts. He sniffed pointedly.

“No, I’m not. And it’s too dark for you to even see if I was or wasn’t.”

“Your silence tells all,” Jinora said in an ominous voice before she laughed again.

“How old _are_ you?”

“I’m eleven.”

He sighed.

“Sometimes, I don’t know what to consider her,” he remarked at last. “We work together to help people, whoever ends up shipwrecked on Yamatai. She’s been doing it for much longer than I have, though. I want to say she’s my friend, but mostly, I have to wonder.”

“Don’t you want to leave?”

Allen glanced over at the girl.

“Yes, of course. But Ash…she’s been here for much too long. After all the people she’s helped, they’ve never come back with help. She’s always left behind. She deserves to leave this place just as much. I aim to find a way to help her.” He returned his gaze to the path ahead, squinting in the low lighting. “I don’t know how much she’s sacrificed over the years. I don’t believe even she remembers or knows. Until she can leave, though, I won’t leave her behind. Everyone else has already done so, without repaying all that she’s done for them. The very least I can do is offer her something she most likely hasn’t had in a long time.”

“What’s that?”

He offered a faint smile to Jinora. “A friend. It’s not much, but it’s a start, don’t you think? Even if she might not admit it, I think…I would like to believe she sees me as a friend. And I’d like to think of her as one, even when she can be…temperamental, at times.”

Jinora studied him as they forged a path through the underbrush for a few quiet minutes. They were fast approaching a precipice that would require loosing an arrow with rope attached to it’s shaft. He hated shimmying his way across such open expanse, especially when the winds were in full force, but the pine forest and home was just on the other side of this canyon and the mountain beyond. To go around would take much longer and if they took any longer, then the risk of running into a predator grew greater. There was also the others back at home to consider. They might go running off due to impatience and worry and end up getting hurt or worse. Then they’d have to go looking for _them_ , too.

_The sooner I get Jinora to safety, the better._

“She killed that man. Do you think…if she had a friend, she wouldn’t kill people anymore? If someone was there to give her balance?”

Allen glanced over briefly.

“She told me once that if she had to be the one to perform undesirable tasks to protect others and to keep their hands clean…then she’d gladly take on that burden so they wouldn’t have to live with the guilt.” He replied quietly. “Her methods are flawed. I know this. But…I hope maybe one day she won’t ever have to resort to such methods.”

“Is that possible? After all this time?”

“I think it is.” He paused as the forest gave way to a clearing and that led to the precipice they needed to cross over. “We’re almost there. We’re going to do something a bit dangerous, but I need you to trust me. Okay?”

Jinora stared after him, trailing her gaze over towards the cliffside beyond and the dark smudged silhouette of the mountain peaks.

“I trust you.”

He was relieved to hear as such and he nodded to her with a reassuring smile.

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Since Ash and Allen don't have kids, this was the best I could glean from this theme. Allen taking care of a younger kid. Sort of. Pfft.


	16. BAD

**BAD**

“Run, Allen, run!”

She was laughing at him. How could she be _laughing_ at him? He was being chased down by a screaming, angry Gally mother that was nearly on top of him!

The screeching ostrich-esque dinosaur was fast. He’s had to pull every trick he knew to avoid getting run down and run over by the near-half-ton Gally without breaking the eggs he had in hand.

_This is bad. This is bad, this is very BAD! This thing’s going to run me over and stomp on top of me for good measure!_

He felt an angry snap of her beak-like mouth right at his backside and he juked hurriedly to the left, the heavy whooshing of air at her passing tearing past him. He had little time to recover, as the Gally sharply adjusted her course and speed to follow hotly on his heels. It’s been some time since he’s ran on open ground like this and everything burned with exertion. It would almost feel exhilarating, if only he wasn’t being chased by a dinosaur.

_All this for a few scrambled eggs! This is insane!_

The Gally very nearly snapped her powerful beak over his shoulder, but at the very last second, she let off a warbling cry of alarm and fell away. He skid to a stop when the heavy, ground-shuddering thud of a body went off shortly after, turning on the spot to stare behind him.

The Gally was lying toppled on the ground, kicking her surprisingly and incredibly bird-like feet in the air and looking dazed. Around the Gally's ankles, tying them together was a hand-braided rope. The Gally squawked and thumped her short, thick tail in annoyance, spotted him, and proceeded to hiss menacingly. Ash came trotting along up to him, grinning broadly. The pack on her back bulged. She had his in her hand.

“Wow, you really are fast on your feet. You gave that Gally mama a run for her money.”

He glowered a little as he took his pack and carefully deposited the two large eggs he had on hand into it.

“You didn’t tell me they were incredibly persistent. She nearly ran me down and right over me!”

Ash grinned a little more abashedly this time. “Yeaaaaaah. They’re a wee bit protective of their eggs.”

“I wonder why,” he replied flatly, casting a cursory glance at the Gally again. The long-limbed dinosaur was trying to ball up and kick and bite off her bonds, squawking in distress. Ash sighed, seeing where he was looking and turned as well to watch. “Go on. Get a head start. I’ll distract big mama here.”

He faltered. “Are you sure?”

“I’m faster on my feet than you. Not that you’re a slouch, but…you’re right. She nearly had you. And if she stepped on ya, it’d be game over. Me, I can take a few struttin’ steps from her kind a lot better’n you could. Go on. Git.” She shifted her pack a little more securely on her shoulders and strode closer toward the thrashing Gally with care in her step. The Gally stretched over to try and nip at the approaching werewolf, hissing warningly all the while.

“I said git, Allen. I got this.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “But we do crazy stuff to survive, so hop to it. Start heading back. The pack’s waiting in the tree line over yonder.”

He glanced over his shoulder toward said tree line, and he could just make out the scant trace of movement within the shadows. Raptors ghosted past sight, if only for a split second, but they were there. He cast another doubtful look Ash’s way, and he watched as she darted forward, grabbing hold of the length of braided rope and tugging it hard. The Gally screamed and thrashed as she dragged it along the ground, at least a half dozen meters away from him. Now the Gally was focused solely on her and Allen was completely forgotten.

She shot him a parting look, and motioned for him to get going one last time before unsheathing one of her knives. The last thing he saw before turning to head toward the forest and the pack was Ash severing the ties on the Gally. The Gally, in turn, rolled over and sprang to her feet, screaming bloody murder while chasing Ash towards her flock. She was laughing the entire time.

Allen sighed.

What an adrenaline junkie.


	17. Shadow

**Shadow**

“Why are we stopping?”

Ash didn’t answer. Allen caught her eye and she held his gaze for a moment, lips pursing. Then she ticked her head a little over. Allen followed her line of sight and saw…nothing. Nothing was up ahead, except for the old ruined hovel of a home and the forest. He frowned, catching her eye again and shrugging, shaking his head. Someone came around to his side. He glanced over, seeing it was the young man with half his face covered in burn scars. He was looking ahead.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. But Ash senses something we can’t very well see.”

“Like a spirit?”

“I doubt it. Something more tangible.” Allen answered. Momo the flying lemur let out a trill of discomfort, and Naga the polar-bear dog growled, her hackles rising. Zuko glanced over at them both alongside Allen.

“They sense it too.”

Allen nodded. That didn’t surprise him. Ash was creeping closer, bow at the ready, sweeping her gaze across the forest floor. They were almost to the beach. Of course, things couldn’t be simple for them.

Ash suddenly paused and the whole group tensed.

“Something is out there.”

That much was obvious. He glanced over to see who had said it, but no one looked his way. Most of the benders, however, looked ready to spring into action.

“There’s a shadow over there,” one of the kids suddenly said, pointing excitedly, motioning wildly toward a patch of open space where sunlight should be—but there wasn’t. Something was hiding right in plain sight. Allen felt his stomach drop away. Carmilla was nowhere near this place. That only left one other conclusion to come to. Ash turned her head sharply in the direction motioned and snarled when the patch of open air suddenly rippled. Allen felt his breath catch in his chest and he was already shoving everyone he could back. They backpedaled in response, questions firing off rapidly at first before they stopped suddenly and looked ready to fight.

“Get back, get back! It’s Carnie!”

“A what?!”

“Big predator, lots of teeth! MOVE!”

As the illusion of the camouflage dropped away, the Carnotaurus revealed itself with a roar. In the morning light, its snub-nosed face glinted blood red, the dark muddy brown stripes along its knobby backside dark like tiger stripes. It was nowhere near the size of Carmilla or Báthory, true enough, but it was big enough to cause lots of damage and weighed nearly two tons.

The Carnie charged after Ash. She fired three arrows in quick succession and they planted themselves firmly in its chest, but only just. The Carnie gave pause and roared in annoyance, moving its incredibly stubby front limbs to futilely smack at the arrows.

When it realized how hopeless a task it had at hand, it turned its rage onto Ash. She didn’t nock another set of arrows, nor even a single one. Instead, she holstered her bow onto her back, leaving her hands free.

Allen felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and his arms break out in gooseflesh. He felt the heat in the air rising and he recognized instantly what she was trying to accomplish. Blinding red-hot fire bloomed into existence, instantly taking form of Báthory, just as she had done several nights before during Jinora’s rescue.

He heard the others murmur, a few of them with derision but overall there was a somewhat positive note in their voices.

“You didn’t tell us she was a firebender!”

Katara was the one who spoke, staring at him with blatant shock. Before he could respond, Jinora was piping up.

“She’s not a bender; she’s a pyrokinetic. Look at her, she’s not moving accordingly like a firebender should!”

Gazes turned with scrutiny as they watched. Ash walked calmly beneath the faux-Báthory flames, driving the Carnie back. Flame-Báthory lunged and the Carnie yowled, both in fright of the larger predator and from the scorching heat brought upon it.

It didn’t take much more for the Carnie to turn tail and flee. Flame-Báthory remained in place, standing as a sentinel would above Ash. Only after a solid minute did she finally will the flames out of existence. A hush fell over them, the air no longer superheated or filled with the angry cries of a territorial, hungry predator.

The quiet stayed with them for nearly a full thirty seconds before Sokka asked, “So…is she in any way related to Sparky-Sparky Boom-Man, or is that stretching it too much?”

“Meelo! Get back here!”

Allen jumped when he saw one of the younger children making a beeline for Ash. He came to a sudden halt in front of her, looking rather determinedly up at the werewolf. He grinned broadly at her, while she…didn’t. Her face was a mask again as she stared down at the little boy. Her ears flared back when he offered a hand to her and Allen saw her fingers curl up to ball into a fist at her side. She turned away from him, leaving behind a disappointed child in her wake, staring after her.

Ash flicked her tail once and called over her shoulder as she took her bow back out, “It’s clear. Let’s move out before the Carnie gets an idea to come back.”

Allen felt another lance of distress rush through him, and judging from the looks on the group as a whole, so were they.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I felt there wasn't enough Avatar interaction. There still isn't enough, as Allen and Ash alike didn't spend much time with them, but they still interacted. I think at some point the others got to see her pyrokinesis in action and Allen gets a full glimpse again. :D


	18. Villain

**Villain**

He’s lost count of the times he’s very nearly broken down to tell Ash about the Fourteenth. About his role as the host for the Fourteenth. How very little he understood and how so much he had yet to learn, and about how the only person who might have been able to tell him was gone now. Cross Marian was perhaps the only person who may have had the answers he needed, and instead, their last meeting had been nothing but a mixture of cryptic messages from the man.

It didn’t help that their meeting had been orchestrated and heavily monitored by the higher ups from Central. It helped even less that Cross Marian was dead now. Everyone who mattered, who might have had answers that he had yet to discover or meet or learn from were also dead.

Was the Fourteenth an ally? A Noah who could have presented a third avenue of resolution in the Secret War? Or was he a hidden villain, waiting for the right time to strike?

Allen simply didn’t know. He hated not knowing. The waiting was worse than the not knowing. Waiting meant he was counting the seconds, the minutes, the hours, the days, weeks, months. Years. It was that nagging _something_ that never quite went away, no matter how much he tried to ignore or overlook it.

But now…

Now things seemed to have tipped in balance and he wasn’t sure it was necessarily a good thing. Allen was used to seeing the grinning spectral image of the Fourteenth’s hidden form in mirrors, true. But he was always grinning. Or he used to.

These days, he didn’t smile.

Allen felt that a change might have affected the Fourteenth. Something that was possibly preventing him from overtaking Allen. A part of Allen was relieved, of course, but another part was incredibly cautious and suspicious. What had changed? Was it the fact that, quite possibly, the war was over, that there was no need for Noah, Akuma, Exorcists and most importantly, the Millennium Earl? Was it because they were all gone? Or was it because of Yamatai’s strange supernatural atmosphere that was preventing the takeover?

Or, perhaps, it was something else entirely that has yet to make itself known that was making the Fourteenth bide his time?

Whatever it may be, Allen just didn’t quite feel relief overwhelm him completely. So many questions and no one to give him answers.

He concluded that, even if he told Ash about it, it wouldn’t help matters at all. For now, he felt…stable. If one could label the feeling as such. He didn’t want to distract from helping her off the island. It didn’t feel right, dumping his problems on her when even he couldn’t figure it out. She already had enough dealing with working out a way to get off of Yamatai. Adding another element, and something that might be quite unnecessary in the end, to the entire thing didn’t sit right with him.

Something told him that he wouldn’t experience a takeover, not on Yamatai. There wasn’t any need to alarm her quite yet. There wasn’t any need to tell her, that the Fourteenth existed and that if he tried to take over Allen and hurt her, than she should kill him if he can’t stop it.

He remained adamant in his resolve, however, to keep it from happening. He wouldn’t allow the Fourteenth to harm her nor would he allow the takeover to occur at all.

His pride simply wouldn’t allow it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I realized that I didn't have much room in 'Left Behind' to explore or touch further on the Fourteenth in the story. To put it simply, I didn't think about it at the time and didn't think of it as important enough--not that it isn't important at all, but for the sake of the story I had planned out, it wasn't relevant for the plot. 
> 
> The Fourteenth isn't a completely off-topic subject, however. Allen simply doesn't have enough to go off on while trapped on Yamatai, except what has or hasn't happened. And what hasn't happened was a takeover of his body and mind. In my future installment story, the Fourteenth will appear in snippets, but much further on down the line--which is also my way of saying I'm biding my time, waiting for more from Hoshino on the matter. :P
> 
> Waiting for those chapters, yo!
> 
> All in all, I'm not ignoring or pretending that the Fourteenth isn't important or relevant. He is. He will appear in due course, but he didn't have a place in Left Behind, and only as a subject of musings in Dying Light. :)


	19. New Love

**New Love**

Morning was slow to come. Ash drifted in and out of sleep throughout the night, feeling a mixture of exhaustion, contentedness, and…confusion. She kept coming back around to the same inquiry and it played over and over and over in her head. And she kept playing around with an answer, feeling more dissatisfied with every one of them as they came around.

She had caved last night, giving into her emotions instead of listening to her head, like she normally did.

 _Why,_ she kept asking herself. It didn’t make sense to her and the more she tried to unravel it, the more tangled it became, knotting itself tightly with other questions and dragging her down further.

Why didn’t she just kick Allen off of Yamatai when she had so many chances to do so? Why did she let him in closer until it became impossible to disentangle him, to push him away? It would have been better for the both of them; he would be away from this hellhole, she could continue on with her existence. Or that’s what she told herself, anyways, up until she realized she was incredibly dissatisfied with that lame excuse.

She had buried away so much of herself, forgotten the rest, and simply lived— _existed_ —before he came along. The moment she saw him, she knew he’d be trouble. And she had been right. He was a beacon of hope, and she had long since forgotten what it felt like to feel hope. He reminded her and it had been painful for her to wrestle with the idea, to tangibly capture it for herself and cradle it close to her heart. He held onto it so easily and without any effort, just like how she could hold onto a ball of fire without burning. He made it look so _easy_.

Whenever she tried, she ended up nicking her fingers on sharp edges, like they were made of prickly glass shards. She hasn’t hoped for anything in a long time. Not with the soft, willing, and patient expectancy of someone who knew how to. Over time, however, the sharp edges dulled and softened, and the pain of putting faith into something intangible lessened immensely. It became easier to hold onto, shaped to a manageable essence, and it terrified her more often than naught.

What if things didn’t go right? What if something happened and ruined it all?

 _It will,_ she finally realized. Quivering in fear from things that had yet come to pass and might never happen at all wasn’t any way to live. Things went wrong all the time. Things happened and plans changed. Priorities rearranged and needed to adapt to the new alterations. The goals remained the same in the end. Hope could do the same thing.

Ash opened her eyes and breathed in deep, letting herself revel in the sensation of Allen’s body pressed to hers, his bare skin warm against her own. He was still fast asleep, with his arm wrapped around her middle. She sought out his hand and gently coaxed his fingers apart to lace hers between his. He sighed quietly in his sleep, shifting a little behind her but eventually settled.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more open to his kind of ideology. Change was inevitable and fighting it would certainly hurt a lot worse.

Her eyes drooped closed and she quietly allowed herself to enjoy the moment, the quietness, the feeling of simply letting herself be and to be open. She was so used to being closed up from others that it was a strange sensation to just be. To allow someone in and let them stay, in more ways than one.

Ash was secretly glad it was Allen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: My friends, I must confess, I'm not all right. The 7th season premiere episode for Walking Dead has fucked me up, we lost two great characters on the show, and I just needed some recovery fluff. 
> 
> Which basically alludes to more musings, realizations, and acceptance to just things happen, go with the flow, and being more open to new things. 
> 
> Or something else. :P


	20. Names Pt II

**Names Pt. II**

Another storm and yet another night of sitting up with the raptors. Ash was always completely in her element when around them. She walked alongside them with little fear. None that she allowed to show, that was. Allen admired it a little. The Dakotaraptors were rather magnificent creatures when one could get past their hyper intelligence and predisposition to being killer animals. It was almost a shame that they had gone extinct millions of years prior. He wondered what the world would look like if dinosaurs and other ancient animals still existed outside in the real world today, living alongside human beings.

He concluded it would quite possibly be a very drastically different place. A more dangerous place.

Ash has told him time and again that the creatures on this island were but a very small sample of the various, copious amounts of species that had lived once upon a time—just like the animals of today were so incredibly varied.

“If you think the Brachys are big, you should see their cousins, like Diplodocus or Argentinosaurus. They were even _bigger_ ,” she had told him with a faint smile when he had first glimpsed the titanic-looking behemoths called ‘Brachiosaurs’. Long necked, long-limbed, multi-ton monstrosities that made the very earth shudder with every step they made.

Allen was alarmed out of his quiet musings when one of the raptors squealed right in his ear, a sudden gush of air blasting his cheek. He turned to find Clover crouching beside him, purring and looking rather amused with herself at having scared him.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?”

She chittered in return, her feathers slowly rising all over her body before she shook herself, flexing her knees and ankles. Her feathered body smoothed over and she nudged at him with her snout. He ran his hand through the feathers at her neck, feeling feather dust coating his fingers as he did and he smiled at the raptor. Clover was rather fond of him and he of her.

“All right, all right, I’m coming.”

“Phrasing,” Ash called from the campfire. He groaned as he approached.

“You’re incorrigible sometimes.”

“Ooooh, big scary word you’re using there. I’m hurt. Really, I am.”

“I’m sure you are,” he remarked dryly. The raptors parted to give him space. He took a seat beside Ash.

They spent the next several minutes in surprisingly companionable silence. She was whittling away at something, as she was wont to do when sitting at the fire, and he occasionally helped feed the flames with a new log. He jumped when sparks spat at his hand after he did so. The raptors rumbled all around him, all seven of them. He glanced over at Clover, who was being preened by Mana.

For a long time, he focused on the violet-and-grey feathered raptor, rolling the name over in his head. It seemed like a massive coincidence that Ash had named a raptor that. That she too had a Mana in her life.

“How did you choose the names for the raptors?”

The inquiry was so soft, he almost thought she didn’t hear him at first. She scraped and picked away at the piece of wood she was working with for nearly a solid minute before she answered him.

“I dunno. When they stopped trying to kill me, I suppose.”

She looked up briefly, scanning the avian gazes that watched her back with equal intensity. She caught his eye briefly, then went back to working on her little wooden figurine.

“First raptor I befriended was Creed.” She motioned to the rust-red-and-grey feathered Dakotaraptor. Creed squeaked softly, head cocking to the side at the mention of his name. “He had a broken ankle. I set it after I brought him back here, nursed him back to health. I named him because…”

Ash paused, almost thoughtfully. She tilted her head to the side, not so differently from how a raptor would.

“I guess we came to a kind of understanding after that. A bond. A promise, almost. A creed to work together. It seemed fitting at the time.”

She lifted her gaze up, frowning, then pointed to Carver.

“Obvious reasons for Carver. He’s a bit…kick-happy. He likes carving up his kills as much as possible, if he’s able, to prevent hiccups, incidents, or…you know, mishaps with prey. He’s a powerhouse.”

Allen nodded, noting how muscled in build Carver was. He was easily one of the larger raptors in the pack. Ash moved on.

“Sol and Luna, they’re reflections of one another. He’s bright and sun-kissed and easily hidden in bright daylight. She’s dark and elusive, better suited for the shadows. She’s got traces of white here and there, like crescents on her feathers. The sun and moon incarnate.”

Ash smiled a little and he grinned back. How cheesy, and yet it worked well for each raptor. Sol was rather peppy and bright, like a drop of golden sunlight brought to life. And Luna, she was a shadow in the night, and an elusive one at that. Sol and Luna were almost always together, fittingly so, working hand in hand together, like the sun and moon.

“Spectre is my ghost. He’s hard to catch, even in broad daylight. He’s the hardest to track, in spite of his feathers. He’s there one moment, and gone the very next.”

Spectre did not react. He kept eerily quiet, his gaze trained on Ash, knowing that she was speaking about him. Allen felt that the raptor was aptly named. Clover bumped Allen, breaking his concentration on the white raptor. She chittered softly, stuffing her snout against his neck with her jaw shivering. Ash chuckled.

“Clover is about as peppy as the plant I named her after. She’s my good-luck charm. She’s always got my back. I don’t usually have to worry when she’s around.”

“I’m starting to feel the same sentiments towards her as well.”

“She likes you.”

“I can tell,” he laughed, scratching under the raptor’s chin. Once the raptors grew accustomed to him, Allen found them rather endearing. They acted so very birdlike, fierce and protective and territorial, yes, but they also vied for attention and love. Clover gurgled happily, her eyes sliding closed blithely.

After a moment of enjoying the attention, however, he realized she hadn’t gotten to the last raptor.

“And…him?”

Ash was watching the raptor Allen pointed to. Mana chittered softly, head cocking to the side curiously. The others turned their attention to Ash.

“You got upset the first time I mentioned his name.”

Allen stared at her, at a loss for words.

“I…no, I…I didn’t—”

“You knew someone by that name, didn’t you? Someone important to you.” She was watching him now, carefully and without missing a beat. He froze, pinned beneath her unblinking gaze. Her eyes softened and she sighed. “I noticed the way you choked up the first time, but I didn’t say anything. At the time it wasn’t important enough, but…”

He swallowed, finding it harder to breathe. Allen finally nodded, unable to hold her stare.

“My adoptive father was named Mana.”

Ash was quiet as she took the answer in stride. She stood suddenly, setting aside her knife and unfinished carving, strolled past him and took Mana’s skull in her hands. The raptor chittered, purring softly as he held her gaze.

“This guy was the second raptor I managed to get close to without being killed, right after Creed. Do you know what the name means?”

Allen shook his head. Mana pulled his head away and promptly rested his chin on the top of Ash’s head. Her ears folded down to allow him the room. She laughed softly, reaching out to scratch at the raptor’s narrow chest.

“Lots of meanings. Some translate it as ‘life’. He’s saved mine countless times, same as the others. He and the rest of the pack showed me a different kind of life we could live, if we worked together. In other translations, it loosely follows that of a supernatural force embodied within a living object or person. And it’s ironic, isn’t it? The supernatural really is what’s keeping them alive, and for so long. It’s probably what brought them to life, and on this island, in the first place.”

Mana spread his arms, encompassing the werewolf in a wreath of feathers, his sharp talons clinging to her clothing. She was smiling a little more.

“It’s a little bit funny how things turn out, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You probably already noticed it.”

She glanced over at him from the corner of her eye, still smiling. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped short when Mana nipped at one of her ears and gave it a tug. Ash yelped, smacking at the raptor.

“Ow, ow, ow! Let go—Mana, you little shit, let go!”

Allen was already upon his feet, disturbing Clover—who yowled in protest at his moving—when Mana let go and snorted in Ash’s face.

“You little asshole, you ruined the moment.”

Mana squealed, baring his recurved teeth at her, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Oh, you smug little shit. Yeah, you think that’s funny, don’t you? Asshole.”

Mana promptly swiveled on his heel, stalking away from the irate werewolf, but not before clubbing her in the face with his feathered tail. She spat out a fluffy piece of downy feather that had somehow lodged itself in the corner of her mouth and glowered at the retreating raptor. The others slowly turned to follow. Clover was the last to leave, but not before she gave Allen a rather affectionate nuzzle and nip.

“Assholes! All of you!” She called after them. He laughed and she turned her irate gaze on him. “And what the hell are you laughing at?”

“I’m—I’m sorry! But they always seem more relaxed like this, playful even, when you yourself are calm.”

He tried to reign in his laughter, but it burst out of him again. Her irritation petered out rather quickly and she sighed, scratching the back of her head.

“Yeah, well…yeah, I guess. I can be a bit uptight sometimes.”

“A bit?” He echoed, still grinning. She rolled her eyes.

“Shut up,” she said, although there wasn’t much conviction in her voice as there was hidden amusement. Ash glanced over at the raptors again, watching as they began to bed down closer toward the door, curled over one another. They peeped softly to one another as they settled for the night.

“It is a bit ironic, though, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“We both have a Mana in our lives.”

The heaviness in his chest returned. He glanced over at Ash. She merely shrugged, smiling a soft and small smile.

“Why did you choose that name?”

“I dunno. It’s not a very common name. That’s partly why. It had a nice ring to it, and it had meaning backing the name. And it just…clicked. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

She shrugged again, this time in a rather apologetic fashion. Ash turned back toward her seat to resume her whittling. He lingered, watching as the raptors slowly ceased their vocalizations and became still, drifting to sleep. He eventually returned to his seat as well, although he felt the late hour tugging at him, beckoning him to start heading to bed. He stayed up for just a little while longer, less than a half hour really, before he excused himself. Ash mumbled a response back, although what it was, he wasn’t sure. She was too focused on her carving project now, so he left her to it and bedded down for the night.

When he awoke the next morning, he rolled over to see something new sitting on his dresser. Half-dressed and half-asleep, he stumbled over to it and picked up the object, turning it over in his hands. As the seconds ticked by, the more awake he became and the more aware he grew of what he was holding.

It was the carving Ash had been working on last night. The last he had seen it, it had been nothing concrete, the shape too vague to discern any particular details but now…

Now the details were exquisite.

It was a little Dakotaraptor, crouched down low with arms outstretched to display its feathers, while its tail rose up in the air. The raptor’s mouth was gaping open, almost akin to a smile. He ran his fingers over the winged arms, feeling tiny indented accents to further accentuate the feel of feathers. He laughed softly and smiled, catching glints of colour in the raptor.

Soft purples and dusty greys.

It slowly dawned on him that it was the same as Mana’s.

His smile pulled a little tightly on his lips as a hard lump began to form at the base of his throat. It took him a minute to breathe easily once more and when he could, he gently put the little wooden raptor figurine back on the dresser, feeling a strange contentedness wash over him.

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: It was never truly explored about why or how the names were chosen for the Dakotaraptors, although I did want to get into it. I just never had the time for it in 'Left Behind'. Like other small nuances, I decided to put it here, for clarity's sake. :)


	21. Slightly Disturbed

**Slightly Disturbed**

“What in the _hell_ are you _doing_?”

Allen paused at the sound of alarm in Ash’s voice. He’s never heard her sound like that before: equal parts amazed, horrified, and perhaps a hint of dumbstruck. It was difficult to turn and see her face, but it wasn’t long for her to come shuffling into his line of sight, a perplexed look on her face.

“What…what did you _do_ to yourself?”

Oh. That was right. Ash didn’t know the true extent of his flexibility. She’s never seen him twist and turn and contort like this before, not in the five years since he’s been here and he found it rather odd that in all the times he’s done this, she’s never been present, not once.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself out of the contorted position he’d been in until he was sitting up more properly with his legs crossed in front of him. He beamed up at her.

“Practice.”

“For _what_? Stuffing yourself into a box to be mailed off to Timbuktu?”

“I’ve had to fold into a small box once or twice. It made for some good money,” he admitted and if anything, Ash twitched like he’d twisted her arm. She shook her head.

“People shouldn’t bend the way you just did. Your spine should have snapped in _half_. You were lying on your fucking chest with your back all bent out of shape and your feet by your _head_.” She closed her eyes and shuddered, shaking her head a little more vigorously. “No. NO. People shouldn’t bend that way.

He sniffed pointedly. “Just because you can’t bend all that well anymore, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep up with my flexibility. You’re stiff all over.”

“Excuse me?”

Allen watched her carefully, a slow grin tugging at his lips. He leapt to his feet and crossed the distance between them.

“I could help with that, you know. I know quite a few tricks that could aide in loosening up stiff muscles.”

“If you try to bend me the way you just did yourself, I guarantee you’re gonna break something.”

She actually looked queasy. Blood and guts she could take in stride without batting an eye, but a little contortion tricks made her uncomfortable? He found that kind of funny.

“No, I’m serious, I can help, you know.” He allowed a pause to pass between them. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust that you’re so not gonna do nothing with my back. Look—no, I’m serious. I got all sorts of nerve clusters moved around where they shouldn’t be. My kneejerk kick reaction is now a punch-people-in-the-face reaction when they smack it.”

“Do you trust me?” He repeated more sternly, holding her mismatched stare steadily. She actually whined low in her throat, glancing away in defeat while her ears drooped. Ash sighed.

“…yes.”

He grinned and gently coaxed her to the middle of the room. “Here. We won’t do anything like what I just did. I don’t think you’ll ever be quite up to par with those kinds of positions. Not with the damage to your back and shoulders. But, there are some tricks that can help loosen up tension in your muscles and increase your flexibility for a greater range of movement. Maybe not to the full extent you’d like, but it’d be a start.”

“So I’m not gonna be turned into a pretzel like you?” She eyed him beadily, but he saw a hint of a smile just barely tugging at her lips. He squeezed her hands in reassurance.

“Promise. I wouldn’t hurt you like that.”

She continued to eye him through narrowed eyes filled with suspicion. Finally, after a minute of staring at him like that, the rigidness in her shoulders lessened and relaxed, but only just. He sighed quietly to himself, mostly in relief.

“All right. We’ll do something simple.”

“No pretzels,” she warned.

“I promise, no pretzels.” He smiled, a little bit entertained at her rather avid insistence. “That’s rather advanced.”

“So you’re just essentially calling me a basic-ass bitch.”

Allen sighed. Ash snickered.

“A _novice_ by all rights in comparison.” He replied, choosing his words with care. “You would certainly hurt yourself if you tried anything I could do.”

“And what _can_ you do, besides stuffing yourself into a tiny-ass box?”

“If I showed you, you would probably faint. You’re twitchy enough as it is from what I just showcased.”

“…good point.” A beat passed. “And I wouldn’t _faint_. I would…walk away.”

He grinned at her, still incredibly amused.

“Of course you would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Allen is a goddamned slinky. Ash is partly amused, partly horrified, and has lost the ability to can in that department. She's amazed, but she wouldn't attempt any of it even if her life depended upon it. She'd probably snap her back, poor dearie.


	22. Jump

**Jump**

It was now or never. The Solarii had them pinned. He hated their ambushes. What was worse was that they were dangling in the sky on a series of lifts and pulleys, on the deck of an incomplete ship’s construction. It looked like the Solarii had been trying to cobble it together, but it was useless. They didn’t have the right tools or materials and so it was left as a half-skeletal rusting heap.

“Shit—run, run, RUN!”

 _Run_ where _, exactly?_ He wanted to ask her that, but she was already shoving him out of the way, right as a spray of bullets and roar of machinegun fire was underway. He summoned his Crown Clown on instinct, the cloak and mantle rising up to shield him in response, but now he was simply running blindly across the deck. A Solarii brother jumped in his way, the barrel of a smoking rifle coming to bear down on him. Ash was already whipping around Allen, quick as a wink, and she shouldered the taller man, hard enough to send him flying. He went sailing up and over the railing of the ship with a terrified scream.

He shot her a horrified look, but she ignored it entirely as she shoved something in his hands and forward again.

“The rope! Use that to propel down the rope! JUMP!”

He shot a quick look at the object in his hands—a handmade ax crafted from sturdy wood with a blade crudely fixed to its end—before he turned to see the series of ropes leading down the canyon trail. Ash gave him another shove, shouting at him to jump, and he did, arms outstretched and the ax in hand to catch the rope.

He was weightless for a few sparing moments, the air rushing over him before his stomach dropped away as he began falling. He came to a jarring halt in freefall when the ax snagged on the rope, much to his relief, and he began zipping down the line. Further down, he could see another series of rope lines anchored against a tall tower. He slipped off the first line, falling again, caught onto the secondary line, zipped down to a third set until he saw an ample opportunity to jump off.

His window was small, but it wasn’t impossible—a cut in between the trees beneath him and down on solid ground. When he landed, he rolled into the fall, coming a complete halt just a few meters shy of falling into a roaring river that was filled with deadly detritus and ruins of old vehicles and downed planes.

Allen looked overhead, his breathing calming down now that he was well and away from the immediate threat. He could still hear gunfire ringing out in the air, the tinny shouts just barely reaching him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when there was an earth-shattering explosion and he caught a lingering look of thick, oily black smoke rising in the sky and then…

Silence.

The seconds ticked by.

Icy dread began to collect in the pit of his stomach, coiled tightly and making it harder to breathe. He started toward the site where the ship was. Or where he assumed it was, if that pillar of smoke was anything to go by.

The seconds turned into minutes.

He came upon the canyon gully. The ship was in complete tatters, lying in a crumpled broken heap at the bottom. Twisted, burnt metal made the air acrid as the smoke from various fires continued rolling into the sky. Allen searched frantically, eyes darting around and the alarm crept a little deeper inside.

_No. No, she was—she was right behind me, she jumped too…didn’t she?_

His only ally on this island and she was nowhere to be seen. Had she made it out? Or was she sitting beneath a pile of metal, broken and bent and crushed to death? The thought made his stomach twist and he felt…cold. Cold and sad and angry. What if the Solarii had actually succeeded in killing Ash? Why couldn’t they see that this mindless violence was _pointless_? It was just a continuous cycle with no end in sight. Killing so callously, without remorse, to actually take active glee from it all, it was—it was…

“Allen.”

He whirled, his heart racing at the call of his name. Ash stood behind him, watching him in that impassive manner of hers. Her clothes were a bit torn and frayed here and there from the scuffle. Her face was smudged with soot and ash and grease, but overall, she looked to be whole and well. Allen stared, dumbstruck in the first few seconds before he lurched forward and pulled her into a hug. Consequences be damned, he had thought the worst had happened!

Ash went stiff as a board, her tail puffing up and her ears flared back against her head in response. She reeked of smoke, but he didn’t care. She was _alive_.

“Get. Off. Of. Me.”

“Why didn’t you follow me? What happened?”

“ _Get. Off._ ”

Grudgingly, he relented and even took her bitter look in good stride. At least she hadn’t shoved him away, like he had almost been expecting her to do. That was a good sign.

“What happened?” He repeated, the worry leaking back into his voice.

She sighed, looking away and over at the wreckage in the canyon below. Her mismatched eyes strayed around for a bit before she answered him.

“They shot my knee out. Lucky shot, I’ll give them that. So I decided to stay behind. Give you a chance to get away.” She shrugged in the face of his distraught expression.

“I thought you were _dead_.”

She shot him her infamous ‘ _Are you stupid_ ’ looks and he frowned back.

“You’ve witnessed me getting shot in the head and getting back up to rip apart the offending parties with my bare hands. Do you really think a little crash and burn episode is going to put me down for good?” She scoffed softly. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”

She motioned for him to follow, but when he didn’t budge, she stopped as well.

“What?”

“I thought you were dead,” he repeated, quieter this time. She paused this time, motioning to herself.

“I’m alive. I’m whole. Let’s go.”

“Why do you do this? Why put yourself in harm’s way, when I could easily cover us both?”

He motioned to his Crown Clown’s cloak, but she barely glanced at it. She kept staring in that eerie manner of hers.

“My health isn’t important. My wellbeing is none of your concern. What is important, is your health and your wellbeing. It’s my job to keep you alive, and to fix what’s broken if something happens. If you get hurt, it’s on my watch and it’s on my head, because I failed to keep you safe.”

He was a little struck by that answer. He stared at her, unsure of how to respond. She didn’t give him a chance.

“C’mon. We got a lot of ground to cover before nightfall. That means a lot more jumping around to get home.”

He hesitated, lingering on site for a few belated seconds. Allen cast a glance over his shoulder at the absolute wreckage behind him, the trepidation returning in full force.


	23. Photograph

**Photograph**

“What is this thing?”

Ash glanced his way, curious as to what he was poking at. Allen himself wasn’t entirely too sure—but he had a theory. The object in his hands was a big, blocky squared device, with a lens to peer through and a slot at the bottom in the front. Ash got up from her spot of rummaging about through boxes and footlockers. She held out her hand as she approached.

“Lemme see that real quick.”

He handed it off to her, and she took it, turning it over in her hands. A grin was slowly but surely spreading across her face. Her eyes lit up excitedly.

“Holy shit, I was wondering where this went! I remember seeing this on the boat, but I couldn’t recall where it went! You must’ve been the one that packed it away…”

He didn’t quite recall that, but he did remember packing up a lot on the boat several years back. He frowned at her, eyeing the device.

“What is it?”

“It’s a camera!” She fiddled around with a compartment and her tail started wagging furiously behind her in excitement. “It’s still got film! Holy shit!”

“What? That can’t possibly be a camera. It’s too small!”

Ash snorted.

“Ye of little faith. We have—well, had, I guess—cameras that were even smaller. This thing is old-school. Science advanced the technology and marched on, ya know? C’mere.”

She helped him to his feet and pulled him in closer, an arm draped around his middle, pressed right up against him. He shivered pleasantly when the heat of her body flushed into his. She paused, then handed it off to him.

“Here. You’re taller. I can’t lift my arm up like you can. Just point it like—yeah, like that, okay good. And then you’ll want to click that button—that’s it, right there—click it when you’re ready. Hold it there, that’s a good angle. Okay, but don’t put your fingers in front of the lens—yeah, yeah. Good. Okay. Now, smile!”

He did so, albeit he felt a little silly. He wasn’t nearly prepared enough for the flash that followed, nor the mechanical whirring the camera made after the fact. Ash took the camera from him and—what was that, coming out the front of the camera? The picture?

How odd.

Ash pulled it out from the front slot and started shaking the picture.

“Gotta do this or it’ll come out looking all wrong. Lighting’s good too, I think.”

She stopped after about a minute, and held the picture out. Allen leaned in closer, feeling a smile tug at his lips.

“Coloured photographs,” he laughed. Ash grinned a little bit wider.

The photograph, for all intents and purposes, had captured the moment rather well. The lighting was a little dim and the colourations were slightly off admittedly, but anyone looking at it could see him and Ash clearly. That was all that mattered.

She was pressed against him, her head resting slightly on his shoulder and grinning wide enough to show off her impressive set of canines. He had his arm wrapped around her shoulders, and while his smile was a little nervous, it was visible.

“Can I have this?”

Ash blinked at him and smiled. “Of course.”

He motioned to the camera, grinning hopefully at her. “Can we also take another? Please?”

Ash’s smile softened quite a bit. She was pretty when she smiled and she did it more freely these days. Not as often, but the quantity wasn’t really what mattered. He wanted to have a small piece of her—of them, together—and now he could, in a photograph.

Ash handed him back the camera with a nod.

“There ain’t much film left, but…maybe one more couldn’t hurt, sure.”


	24. Cold

**Cold**

He dreamed of the cold and the frost. He dreamed of ruins crumbling into the sea. He dreamed of fires that burned like ice spreading across Yamatai and as bright as the blue sky. The sky was dark and the moon and stars were gone. The only traces left of the moon was a reflection in the sea. It was nothing more than a bright crescent glowing ethereally in the black waters.

The beach was void of life and there was nothing but silence. Not even the sea would sigh as it rushed up and down the thin sliver of pale silvery sand.

Ghostly apparitions soon began to file past him. He turned to watch as the great long necks of the Brachys towered above him. The great behemoths walked right past him without concern. A herd of frilly tri-horned Trikes lumbered along shortly after.

They weren’t…right.

None of them were of flesh and blood, like he was.

They were nothing but bones, bright and glowing. They waltzed into the sea without a sound. Little Compies darted along between and around his feet, disappearing into the black waves. Their usual bird-like chirrups were absent. A trio of Dilos glided on nimble feet right into the waters. The Carnies followed them next, along with a gaggle of Gallies and Dries and Coles.

Pachys trotted along, while a pair of Corys and another of Paras strolled without stopped as they hit the water. The sluggish Stegos stepped carefully along, their great triangular spikes swaying as they did. Anklos waddled slowly, their great armoured sides heaving back and forth while their clubbed tails fretted. So many more of them came.

All of them, skeletal remnants of their former selves. All of them, quiet ghosts. All of them, returning to the sea.

He watched as Báthory came upon the beach, silent as the grave. Carmilla was not long in following. The pair of them were as regal as ever. They stepped right into the sea, the same as the others. The two rexes vanished as the waters rose over their heads.

The raptor pack…

They came running.

Graceful, nimble, fleet-footed.

None of them paused to look at him. None of them stopped to acknowledge Allen.

He couldn’t even tell who was who. They looked strange without their feathers. He called for Clover, frantic, but none of them listened. None of them so much as looked at him.

Allen watched as they too disappeared from sight and into the black sea.

The crash of thunder made him flinch.

After all this time steeped in silence, he wasn’t prepared for the intrusion of noise. The fires were drawing closer, he saw. They were bright icy-blue and tipped with white, and growing larger by the second. He could feel the sheer cold coming off the flames. The sky remained dark as ever, in contrast, as though it was absorbing the light and not allowing it to reflect properly.

He watched as a hint of a disturbance in the sky began to take place, near the epicenter of the island.

Allen watched as a storm grew, bigger and bigger, moment by moment.

Thunder rumbled threateningly and suddenly, lightning lashed out in a silvery, crooked lance. It struck the island. A mountain collapsed. The gale whipped out another flash of lightning. Yet another mountain crumbled. The fire grew dimmer.

The tempest grew bigger until it encompassed the whole sky.

**_NO ONE LEAVES._ **

The words weren’t spoken but they were heard all the same. The voice made him feel small and insignificant, stripping away at him to his fragile core. There was ancient power behind the voice. Something old, something wise…something evil.

Another flash of lightning and roar of thunder assaulted his senses. Another mountain fell to devastation. In the distance, he could see the monastery rising amongst the remains of the island, whole and intact, a beacon of dark not-light. Allen was drawn to it, like a moth to the flame.

He crept closer and closer still. The storm’s power was coming from the monastery. It was strongest there. He could feel the sensation of its power gliding over him. The closer he came, however, the icier it grew. His breath misted out in front of him and it wasn’t long before he was hugging himself. Snow began to fall.

The monastery grew larger with every step he took. He passed by wreaths of blue and white flame, and it was freezing.

 ** _Bow before the Sun Queen_** , a voice whispered, incorporeal and breathy. He stopped, staring up at the monumental structure before him, both in awe and fear at the sight.

The doorway leading inside was wide open. An ethereal light spilled out from within. A figure glided into place, but he couldn’t make out the details, only their silhouette. He had the strangest feeling that they were beckoning him closer, though. He took one step and suddenly, he was at the top.

The storm continued to rage above him, a flurry of snow creating a vortex of white to block out the rest of Yamatai’s sights. When the thunder boomed, it left his ears ringing.

A woman stood before him, garbed in a splendid kimono of bright crimson and pure white and gleaming gold. Her small hands were folded demurely in front her. Her face was painted, hiding any imperfections like a clean porcelain white mask. Her hair, black as ink, was pinned and bobbed up in an intricate golden hair ornament. She was beautiful.

She smiled at him, but there was no warmth in her dark eyes, only hunger.

 ** _Bow before the Sun Queen_** , the voice repeated, soft and silky and firm. Coaxing and honeyed.

Himiko.

This was Queen Himiko.

Allen felt his breath catch in his throat.

 ** _Bow_** , the voice pressed, this time more demanding and harsh, impatient. The woman watched Allen sharply now, like a hawk watching a mouse from above. Her smile was all but gone and leaving behind a coldness instead.

It chilled him to his core.

**_BOW!_ **

The word resonated within him, striking deep. His ears rang from the sheer intensity and volume. His breath froze in his chest, an iron vice squeezing his lungs tighter and tighter still. The icy realm surrounding them intensified and the sheer cold seeped down deep, striking to the bone. The sky roared in kind to echo the word. He was growing numb all too quickly, the frostiness surrounding him, threatening to drag him down.

A new light splashed across the darkness with such sudden clarity, it almost hurt to look at. Gold and scarlet flames overcame the icy blue and white fire, washing away the coldness and spearing heat into the swirling hoarfrost. Himiko’s features contorted from the gentle grace she falsely portrayed to pure seething rage. She opened her mouth in a snarling scream, rage alit in her dark eyes.

The storm reacted in kind, wailing madly.

**_YOU._ **

Himiko was no longer watching him. She glowered at something behind him and he whirled to see a wolf made entirely of churning fire. Glittering golden yellow and deep crimson red, it stood like a beacon beating back the darkness that threatened to consume everything. The wolf was large, larger than any wolf had any right to be. It was watching him solemnly for a moment, calm and serene. He felt more drawn to the fiery wolf, and it was a powerful sensation; more so than the lilting temptation from Himiko. Himiko’s voice boomed out from the sky.

**_YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT, GUARDIAN._ **

The fiery entity snarled, red lips peeling back to reveal yellow fangs and stepped forward on silent paws. The heat that shimmered off of it was a soothing balm, although Allen felt it strange that he felt no blistering discomfort as it drew closer. Even when it passed right beside him, he didn’t burn.

The Sun Queen’s fury shrieked all around them and briefly, the cold fire threatened to consume them once more. The wolf shivered, its own heat diminished fleetingly before flaring back up, brighter and hotter than before, rising to meet the challenge with fervor.

**_YOU WILL GIVE ME WHAT I WANT OR DIE BEFORE I LET YOU LEAVE THIS CURSED ISLAND._ **

The wolf charged, paying him no mind, even when he cried out for the both of them to stop. Himiko screeched, her eyes burning bright as fire, and the storm above screamed alongside her. The force of the tempest collided with the wolf just as it reached Himiko. Light seared his eyes the instant all three points made contact, a howl of furious vexation ringing in his ears.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Allen awoke with his heart pounding so hard and fast, it actually hurt to breathe. He was covered in a cold sweat, his sheets and his clothing soaked. He heard the click of claws drawing closer, but didn’t think anything of it at first as he fought to control his breathing. It was only when he felt something tentatively pat his arm did he respond.

Ash was there, watching him with wide eyes, concern written so plainly on her face. She withdrew just as quickly as she had reached out, but she didn’t shrink back completely.

“Bad dream?” She asked quietly and he nodded, gulping down another uneasy breath.

“I…I saw a wolf…it was on fire. And…”

He squeezed his eyes shut, the dream already flitting away quickly and he was only able to cling to snippets.

“The dinosaurs…they were gone, they turned into…skeletons, I think. And there was a storm and…and ice and fire…it was so cold, I…”

He expelled a heavy breath in exasperation, clutching at his head. “I can’t remember the rest.”

Allen nearly flinched at the next tentative poke Ash made, but he reached for her when she made to withdraw, mumbling quietly, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He was hushed when she pressed a finger to his lips, crawled onto the mattress and promptly flopped onto one side of his pillow. Cautiously, he did the same, settling on the other side and gathered her up in his arms, needing something, _anything_ , to anchor him to something corporeal and physical. He was soothed by the heat that covered him and he found his eyelids drooping shut.

Something came to him as he sleepily fought to remember what he had dreamed.

“Ash?”

She hummed softly at him.

“I think I saw Himiko…and I think you were the wolf.”

“Hm?”

“In my dream.” He paused. “You were fighting in a storm.”

“Mmm. I’m always fighting her. And there’s always a storm here.”

He frowned a little, his eyes peeping open for a moment before sliding closed again.

“I think the wolf was made of fire.”

“…go to sleep, Allen.”


	25. Hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The frickle-frackle. There's a reason this story was rated 'Mature' and it wasn't just for the violence and whatnot. Also, it's set sometime in the two years since these two initiated a relationship, so this is between two consenting adults. Read at your own risk.

**Hot**

Fingers were knotting themselves in his hair and he wasn’t above returning the favour. He reveled in the sharp little gasp that he’d elicited when he nipped at Ash’s bare neck. She tilted her head and he sought her lips with his, inhaling deeply the heady scent mixture of crushed pine, sea salt and wood smoke that she was always steeped in. Her hands wandered, slithering down to briefly slide under his shirt, roving across his bare skin. It sent a little thrill through him, distracted him momentarily. He bit back a soft groan when she rolled her hips, grinding against his tented pants. He quickly threw his shirt over his head, briefly breaking the kiss, but she was back in again, and her hands were already unbuttoning his pants. 

He couldn’t recall what they had been speaking about prior. In fact, he couldn’t remember how they’d gotten into Ash’s room all that well, either. It didn’t feel all that important, though, not in this moment. Maybe later it would, when things cooled down and coherent thought actually mattered. 

But now wasn’t the time. He was too busy planting another soft kiss along her neck, nipping at her collarbone before settling with a bite to the shoulder. That made her squirm, a hissing gasp of surprise rippling out from her mouth. She returned the favour, reaching in his boxers and grasping him, giving him a few gentle strokes. He tried to bite back another groan, stifle the noise, but it slipped out all the same. The heat rose between them, but that was expected and he’s grown used to it to the point of being unfazed. It wouldn’t have felt the same if it were anything less. 

Before he realized what was happening, she’d tipped him back, sending him sprawling onto his backside on the mattress. She was quick to strip off her own clothes while he pushed his boxers off. He propped himself up just as she began to straddle him and she leaned down, her bare breasts pressed tightly against his chest as she settled atop. He wriggled a hand between them to tweak one of her nipples and she huffed a soft moan when she crashed her mouth to his, a free hand roaming to carve another trail of heat against his bare skin. She didn’t linger there long and moved on to kiss at his cheek, his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder and each touch of her lips was hot to the touch against his skin. He felt his breath hitch when he belatedly realized it was his left side she was being so attentive to now, peppering soft fluttering kisses to the skin of his left arm, his Innocence. 

It nearly brought out a sob from him that anyone would ever see anything in that arm, that anyone would have ever shown it the same love as the rest of him. 

He inhaled sharply in surprise, breath catching sharply in his throat and chest when rolled her hips against his erection, another flare of his arousal rising up. He whined softly and gasped her name just as she returned her attention to his lips. He wasn’t as surprised when she flicked her tongue at him, a wordless request for admission, and he gladly welcomed her. At the same time, she reached between them, gently guiding him inside her, sliding down slowly his length. It drew out a ragged groan from him as he bucked his hips upwards the rest of the way, a jolt riding down his spine as her moist heat encompassed him completely. 

His hands flew to her hips, gripping tight, as she began rocking and he moved in time with her. She leaned back to sit up and he touched her, one hand trailing up her belly and across slick scars and healthy skin to cup one of her breasts. The other dropped to grip the sheets, his breath catching in his throat as a wave of euphoria washed over him. His heart pounded away like thunder in his chest as he sat up, closing the distance between them, a soft growl in his throat. He pulled her close, reveling in the quickened breathy gasps she made and it only fed his desire for her. He wanted her to come, wanted to feel her clench tighter around him, wanted to hear his name on her lips. 

He felt a dark and possessive streak rise up inside him, as it always did when they made love. Ash was his. She would always be his and she had made it clear enough that she felt the same towards him. 

Ash arched her back at his touch with a moan, her claws raking down his back as she held him tight. Gentle as she was, he had a feeling those were going to last for several days, but he didn’t care all that much in that moment. 

She whimpered his name, a plea on her lips that urged him to quicken his pace and even then, he could feel the need for release coiling and building up inside. Her breath was hot on his skin, and he found her mouth with his, kissing her fiercely. He moved on to her nose, her cheek where her own scars lay, down to her neck. He whispered her name even as she went rigid in his arms, crying out when she reached her climax. He drank in the sight of her face, the whimpers she made, at the pleasure written so clearly on it that nothing else mattered. It was just another example of a side of Ash only he was allowed to see, that no one else would ever be privileged to view. 

He wasn’t long in following her example, teetering on the edge before his own climax struck him, quick and strong, sending him right over with her name on his lips again as he spilled himself inside her. Exhausted, yet content, he was sprawled back onto the bed with Ash pulled down alongside him once his climax had ridden itself out. The world around continued to fade until there was nothing but the two of them. Her scent, her skin, her warmth, her body pressed against his. 

They lay there for several minutes, catching their breaths, entangled with one another. He closed his eyes momentarily, lulled by the quiet between them, interrupted only by the slowing of their breathing. He was startled when he felt a hand on his face, pushing aside damp hair. He opened his eyes to see her mismatched stare watching him, a faint smile pulling at her lips. 

“I love you,” she murmured quietly. His heart gave a little leap. Ash wasn’t one for words. She believed actions spoke louder than words, yet hearing those three come from her always felt like the first time he’s hearing them. It was strangely humbling, considering she probably hasn’t uttered them to another living being in years. He gathered her up in his arms, pulling them even closer and buried his face into her shoulder. 

“I love you, too.” He paused, his eyes sliding closed a second time. “Mmm…what were we talking about before we interrupted ourselves with this?” 

“I can’t even remember. But if it’s important, we’ll get back to it.” She shifted a little and he sat back to let her move. A smile curled its way across her lips. “But until then…how about we go for round two, huh?” 

“You’re _insatiable_ ,” he laughed, even when she met him halfway to kiss him. 

“Like you’re one to talk.” 

“Mmm, I suppose I’m guilty as charged.” He smiled against her lips. “But you’re also a terrible influence.” 

“Me? A terrible influence? You must be thinking of someone else. I’ve been nothing but a shining positive example to you.” 

He burst out laughing at that and she joined him a few seconds later.


	26. Fate

**Fate**

“Do you think it was fate?”

“Do I think _what_ was fate?”

“That I ended up here?”

Ash snorted, poking at the campfire. “No. I don’t believe in things like that. Fate. Destiny. People use it as an excuse to explain away how things pan out, good or bad. But especially bad. Like if how things go wrong and they use it as a story telling device or an excuse to do whatever it is they want to get their own agendas or goals pushed forward without looking like the bad guy. ‘Fate divined me to do it. It’s my destiny.’ It’s all crap.”

Allen frowned at her from across the campfire, feeling a little deflated at her criticism. Her usual mask of indifference was marred by annoyance.

“You don’t have much faith in divine providence or anything of the sort, do you?”

“I’m sorry, but if there really was an invisible omnipotent, omniscient old man hovering about in the sky in the clouds looking down on this planet, I highly doubt he’d waste so much as an iota of thought, let alone a glance, in this particular island’s direction and our plight. If I believed in destiny or fate, or anything of that sort, than I’d probably believe that I’m meant to rot away on this godforsaken spit of land and then die. Because that’s probably what _is_ going to happen, and no one will know who I was, and no one will give a damn. I sure as hell don’t need someone to tell me that, either.”

Anger had bloomed about as red hot as the fire in her words, colouring them as much as passion as there was hatred. The campfire, in kind, responded rather savagely. It had risen up high with a hissing shriek. Allen had to jump from his seat and well away from the blistering heat. Ash, predictably, didn’t. It washed over her for an instant before retreating just as suddenly. She shuddered, wrangling her control back in.

For a very long poignant minute Ash said nothing. She did nothing. She stared deep into the fire, her mask not quite back in place, but it wasn’t completely gone either. Allen slowly inched his way back over to his seat, stopped, then circled around to sit beside her. She didn’t react to him, not visibly anyway. She might have glanced his way, but he wasn’t quite sure.

“The only way that will actually happen is if you let it. If you give up, then that really will happen! You can’t just lay down and let it,” he started quietly, his hand inching closer to hers. The moment his fingers brushed hers, however, she was up and moving away from him. He sprang to his feet like a kneejerk reaction.

“Ash—I don’t…I don’t know how old you really are. And I don’t know how long you’ve already been fighting, I can’t imagine living for so long. I can’t and pretending to try would be insult, I imagine. But I know what it means to fight, with every fiber of my being against something, to not let myself give up, to walk my own path and not let anyone deter me from it.”

She stopped suddenly, and he kept his distance, just in case. Although, he noticed, at least she was listening. One of her pointed wolfish ears twitched in his general direction long enough for him to gather as much.

“If you let yourself be overrun like this—to just give up and accept whatever is thrown at you, whether it really is fate or a kind of destiny, or even if this is all just pure coincidence…then they win. Himiko and her Oni Stormguard win, and the Solarii win as well. Don’t let them.”

Allen gave pause, then braved a few steps closer towards the smaller werewolf. She tilted her head a little, and he stopped. She didn’t move, but she was watching him now from the corner of her golden eye.

“Then what would you suggest?”

“Make your own path. Don’t let them make it for you. Keep moving forward, the way that you would want to, not the way they do. If you let them, then they hold that much more power over you. You…”

He stopped suddenly, taken aback when she turned to look at him and at the way she stared at him. Like she was seeing him for the first time.

Like he wasn’t some pest or annoyance that was taking up space in her home, a troublesome child to care for, or worse, a pet. She was looking at him as though she was staring at an equal, instead. All of her earlier irritation and anger fled in the wake of her open inquisitiveness. Allen braced himself, unsure of what to make of her abrupt change of heart.

Allen had almost been expecting her to whirl on her heel and tell him to shut it, but at the same time, he also felt he’d needed to say all this regardless. She needed to hear it. Whether or not she acknowledged it…that was an entirely different story.

But he hadn’t expected this.

Ash stepped a little closer, watching him with equal parts curiousity and wariness, and it wouldn’t have been hard to imagine an actual wolf in her place inspecting something new. For all intents and purposes when she acted like a raptor, she also had her canine-like moments. She stopped short of invading his personal space, eying him sharply.

“You’re very strange for a human so young. Anyone ever tell you that?”

He felt a little insulted by the remark, but at the moment, she wasn’t glaring at him or talking down on him. It was a rather open remark, he came to recognize. No malice, no reticence. There was almost…well, not quite admiration in her tone, but close enough to it that it gave him pause.

“I…can’t say I’ve met any werewolves before you, so my experience is limited, but I might have to say that same about you.”

She snorted, withdrawing a little further away from him.

“I’m not young.”

“You look it.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

He frowned at her as she retreated another step. “Ash…”

“Get some rest, Allen. We’ll be getting up early to go hunt again. Good night.”

Allen stared after her, another protest on his lips, before he let it die down completely when a revelation hit him. She’s never told him good night before. Not earnestly like she had just done, that was.

This was also, perhaps, the first time they’ve actually ended a conversation that had started out heated and ended rather benignly, and without either of them going to bed upset or angry with one another.

He decided to take the victory, no matter how small it may seem. In his books, it was rather large indeed.


	27. Do You Want to Know?

**Do You Want To Know?**

“Do all werewolves look the way you do? With the ears and the tail, I mean.”

Ash glanced up from the book she was reading to look at him. She blinked several times, head tilting to the side, not unlike any of her raptors, before she shrugged.

“Why do you want to know?”

“It’s not really stated in your book. The one you made.”

Ash hummed softly, still watching him prudently. She sighed after a time, putting her book down to free her hands. Allen frowned when she reached for her wolfish ears as they lay against her head to cover them as her eyes closed. He was so focused on her face that he didn’t notice the changes, not at first.

When she moved her hands away, he stared, not sure at what he was supposed to be seeing until he noticed what he _wasn’t_ seeing. Her ears were no longer atop her head. Ash brought up a foot to prop up against the battered coffee table and he gaped. Her foot was no longer a paw. It was a regular human foot. And it was so small!

He darted his eyes up to meet her expectant, guarded gaze. She betrayed nothing to him, not at first.

When he scanned over her form, he noticed that her tail was missing as well. She looked…

Well, she still looked like herself, but more like a regular human woman and that in itself was just so…so abnormal. She didn’t look right. Yet, he had to wonder if she could make herself appear normal to others, why she chose to look the way she usually did. When he asked her, she shifted in her seat, looking so uncomfortable he almost felt bad for inquiring.

“Honestly? You really want to know?”

He hesitated before nodding.

She wiggled a foot in response at first.

“Try finding shoes in my size on this fucking island.”

He stared at her, smiling nervously.

“I…don’t think I understand.”

“Shoes. I can never find any shoes in my size. Look at my feet! They’re tiny. That’s why I stick with my paws.” She offered a thin, crooked smile and winked at him. “And I’m a lot shorter without them, so that’s another win.”

Allen couldn’t help but chuckle at her rather earnest answer.

“And…the ears? The tail?”

Ash shrugged. “Better balance and a better range of hearing.”

He considered that for a moment. Allen stood, hesitant at first before he found some form of confidence to push through as he came around the table and sat beside Ash. He motioned to the side of her head. “May I?”

She stared at him for a long time, like a wild beast that wasn’t quite sure of what to make of something strange and new in its territory. After a good solid ten seconds passed, she tilted her head back, but she still watched him from the corner of her eye—the blue-grey one.

Gently, he reached up to brush away her hair and found her ear hiding beneath the thick tresses, surprised to find it small and normal looking as well—except for the very tip at the top. She nearly flinched when he brushed his finger against it, her frame stiff and tense. He was surprised at that, and even more so at the way she was baring her teeth at him. He retreated almost immediately. She didn’t relax. 

“Sorry, I…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

She stared at him, still wide-eyed and suspicious, her body leaning away from him. A good long while passed between them before she finally allowed herself to ease up, and when she did, she looked about as apologetic as he felt.

“I’m…not used to…people looking at…at…you know…” She muttered, reaching up to pull her hair back over to hide her ears. She curled up a little more on the couch beside him, dropping her gaze to her feet. He frowned, thoughtful and quiet for a minute. She startled when he began moving again, this time to tug off one of his boots and sock, propping it up next to her foot. He grinned a little. Her feet really were smaller than his. She looked up at him, head tilting over.

“You know, I think you’re right. You really would be hard-pressed finding shoes in your size on the island. The paws look better on you.”

She blinked several times, apparently not expecting that kind of answer. Gradually, however, a small smile began to crease the corners of her lips. He continued to grin at her, and it helped coax the rest of her to relax as well, especially when he took off the other boot, wiggling his toes. She wriggled hers back, huffing slightly. Not quite a laugh, but close enough to it. It still looked odd, seeing her look so normal that it was absolutely the opposite. She didn’t quite look like herself.

“You don’t have to stay this way, you know. If you don’t want, I mean. You can change back. Or however it is you do it. If you’d prefer, that is.”

Ash watched him carefully, lips pursing, smile not quite gone but not quite there either. She drew her knees up to her chest and propped her chin on them, shrugging. “I haven’t seen my toes in a very long time. I think I can afford to wait a little longer.” She paused, almost thoughtfully, before adding, “Just…don’t ask me to get up. I might fall on my face.”

He laughed at that, which earned him a half-hearted sullen glare, although he caught sight of a very faint smile tugging at her lips again.


	28. Worse

**Worse**

There were days when Allen really believed Ash when she said this island was going to be the death of him. There were days when he really wished the Solarii would simply just leave him and Ash alone.

Today was one of those days.

He was already in a sullen mood. It’s been raining for three days straight and he hasn’t been dry, not even once, in the interim of those days. He and Ash had been out surveilling the island after yet another rather nasty storm system that had blown through Yamatai. It was old news, of course, the amount of storms and typhoons and other assorted menagerie of tempests that roll over the island. One would think the surveillance part of that in the aftermath of things would be too, except for the part where it wasn’t. Old paths would be ruined and if they were lucky, new paths were carved out. If not, they would have to pave their own way and forge new trails to get around any blockades of all sorts…

It was always grueling work. It meant staying out for days at a time. It meant being exposed to any and all sorts of danger. If the dinosaurs or the Solarii didn’t get to them, than the very island itself, the environment, the weather very well would.

Allen was once again being reminded as to why Ash hated this place and he didn’t believe she had the wrong idea for it, either.

He would have been fine with the rains. He would have been fine with the amount of detours they’ve had to take. He would have been fine with all the delays that plagued them.

It was the multitude of ambushes they’ve had to deal with that really did it for him.

Ash tried to avoid them all—but sometimes, Allen felt that even when she tried, it wasn’t enough. When they managed to scuttle past one group, they’re forcibly pushed into another, and then it just doesn’t seem to matter at that point. The group they just avoided ends up joining forces with the second, and then they’re dealing with all of them at once.

This was the fourth time this day alone they’ve had to deal with this kind of fiasco.

It was, all in all, really annoying and it frayed away at his nerves, leaving him feeling raw and irritated.

He just wanted a bath and then right after that, clean dry clothes.

Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently, it was.

What little cover they were behind was quickly being ripped to shreds. He had Crown Clown out and it was protecting him in the meantime, but Ash…

She was diving in and out of cover, charging forward and pushing back the Solarii. Some had actually dropped everything and flat out ran. Apparently, they valued their lives a little bit more than the others and decided preserving that was more important than being shot at by her. What others remained were slowly dropping like flies.

If Ash was anything, it was efficient. He found it admirable, if in an extremely macabre manner, how competent she was at the various weaponry she could get her hands on. Centuries’ worth of practice probably had a large helping hand in that department.

What times Allen could steal a peak around his dwindling cover, he found less muzzle flashes popping off from various places across the way. Ash was nearly on top of the Solarii. He almost felt like cheering—but then he remembered that she was killing these men. Even if he knew that they would be back again, it didn’t make him feel any better.

Just when it seemed like things were finally going to be going in their favour, it suddenly took a turn for the worse. One moment, Ash was pushing forward, firing off shots from her rifle, and the next, there was an explosion and it sent her sailing back toward him. His ears were ringing, and there was a huge clod of mud and rocks was rising up where Ash had been. She came crashing through the wall of the house he was covered down in, rolling across the rotted wooden floors. He darted out to grab her and yanked her over. In the distance, underneath the steady sound of the rain, he could hear the Solarii cheering excitedly.

Some of them were skulking out of hiding, their rifles trained on the both of them. He threw up his cloak just in time, before the bullets starting showering them again. Ash pushed him away wordlessly with a growl. Blood trickled down the side of her temple, but the wound had already healed. The ringing in his ears was beginning to fade, but it didn’t ease him at all. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled in anticipation and he had a sinking feeling that that shot wasn’t the only one the Solarii had on reserve.

“What _was_ that?”

“Grenade launcher,” Ash spat before cursing under her breath. Her ears flicked suddenly and her eyes widened. She dove at him, knocking him to the floor as she shouted, “GET DOWN!”

Another explosion ripped through the air, the force hitting them full on—or it would have, if he hadn’t had his Innocence invoked. His cloak took the full brunt of the hit, but it sent them careening into open air. Ash went one way, he the other, and weightlessness overtook them both. The ringing in his ears came back, stronger and louder and longer this time, but it didn’t really occur to him as important at the time. He was more focused on stopping his freefall and that ended quickly enough when white ribbons attached to his cloak snatched up at any handhold available.

At the same time, he focused on Ash as well, shouting her name, but he wasn’t sure if she heard him—if his ears were ringing, then hers had to be as well. Ribbons darted forward, striking quick as vipers and wrapping around her middle, her arms, her legs and she jerked to a sudden halt as well. He breathed a sigh of relief. Ash looked up at him. He grinned, albeit nervously, and gave her wave. She glanced at the tendrils wrapped around her limbs and torso, frowning deeply, ears pressed tight to her head.

“Well…at least things can’t get any—”

He stopped short when they both jerked downward, sharp and sudden. It set his heartbeat to a faster tempo and he shot a glance upwards toward the cliff they were hanging off of, where his Crown Clown had dug into.

_Oh no. No, no, no, no—!_

Too late.

The cliff they were latched upon crumbled apart and they were in freefall once again, tumbling down and into the forest waiting below.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

He awoke to the sound of rain softly pattering away on the ground. Allen groaned, sitting up, but stopped short and fell silent when he noticed Ash sitting close by, tending to a small fire. They were both tucked away in small cave. The glow of the fire cast long shadows on the walls and brought warmth all around, while outside it was dark and cool.

Ash’s ears flicked suddenly and she turned her head to glance over at him. She abandoned the fire to venture closer and she plopped down beside him. The first thing she did was check his head and he winced, jerking away from her touch. He reached up himself and found bandages there. She glowered at him grimly.

“How you feeling?”

“Horrid.”

She grabbed his chin in her hand and he hated being reminded so gruffly just how much stronger she was than him physically. She honestly had no rights to be, she was so tiny, it wasn’t _fair_.

“Next time you feel like uttering the magic jinxing words, ‘it can’t get any worse’, please do it when you’re alone and I’m not in your present company. I’d rather not be within your vicinity when the dumbass parade comes marching through to prove just how wrong you are and just how much worse things can actually get.”

He nearly bit his tongue when she let him go and he clacked his teeth together. His words were late in coming, but they came all the same and he blurted after her retreating backside, “Oh that’s rich, coming from you after I had saved you from falling to your death!”

“You forget that I can survive those kinds of falls, whereas you wouldn’t have, if you didn’t have your armour, and even then you didn’t make it unscathed. Now that you’re awake, try to stay that way, you might have a concussion.”

Allen took pause in that, hesitating.

“How long was I out?”

“About half an hour. Not all that good for you, but you wouldn’t wake up. I…” Ash wavered, and even with her back turned to him, he could sense a shift in her attitude. “I…I wasn’t sure you would wake up.”

That threw him for a loop. The solemn tone she took, the quietness of her voice, the ever-so-slight droop of her shoulders…

She’d been _worried_ for him. Granted, as she said, it was only a half hour, and even if it probably wasn’t good for him…the fact that she’d been worried and admitted it to him…

“I…feel okay. Besides the part we fell off a cliff and I might have a concussion…”

Ash glanced over her shoulder to peer at him, her eyes betraying nothing. She sighed and turned away back toward the fire, motioning for him to come over.

“You should get over here, if you want to get dry. I don’t want you catching a cold on top of everything else.” She paused. “I know you’re probably sick of being wet after the last few days.”

That was perhaps the nicest thing she’s said to him all week. Or it was the closest he’d get to her being nice, anyway. Perhaps things would get better after all.


	29. Precious Treasure

**Precious Treasure**

She’s awake and she wishes she wasn’t, but she wishes more to not sleep again, to not see…to not see…

She’s lost it.

Again.

But she reeks like sweat and fear and it’s a sickly odor that nearly makes her gag. So she gets up and walks around, trying to shake away the shivers and jitters, the last remnants of the nightmare fading away. She goes to the wash cave, cleans herself up, and feels a little better, but not by much. She still wishes she could somehow get a hot shower that didn’t include superheating the water herself.

It isn’t until she’s curled up on the derelict couch—tattered and worn and patched up so many times and it was sagging so badly, having lost its puffed up fervor over the last few decades—that she catches herself with her hand at her throat, running her index finger and thumb along the coin hanging there.

White hair and pale silvery eyes, a bright and warm smile, a scar on the cheek…

She wishes she could forget him and she hates herself for it. Hates herself so much that it makes her feel physically sick. The one person she had once upon a time never wanted to leave her memory and now the very thought of him makes her hurt so much. She still has reminders that he existed, that he hadn’t just been a figment of her imagination—his old Black Order coat, for one, is hanging in the room she’s closed off from others and couldn’t bear to step into any more these days. But the most prominent one was the gold coin she wore around her throat.

She knows she should take it off and never look at it again, but his memory compels her to keep it, even if it makes her ache to remember. She couldn’t just toss it. He had given it to her. It had been a gift, and at the time, a wonderful token of understanding and love. He knew she couldn’t wear something silver, even if it would have looked better on her, so he found something gold instead.

So she wears it, despite how it makes her feel, this sick churning feeling of regret and love and sorrow and happiness and longing all rolling into one to settle in the pit of her chest, sitting on her heart and lungs and making it all the more harder to think and breath and function. She couldn’t tarnish his memory, not any more than she’s done already. Forgetting him would be worse than anything else she could think of.   



	30. Tears

**Tears**

She cried for days after she had made him leave. She cried until she could only dry heave. She cried until her eyes were puffy, her throat raw from screaming, her head pounding away a painful consistent tempo of a headache. Each throb was like cannon fire going off inside her skull, reminding her of her mistakes, one right after another.

The list went on and on in her head, invisible to everyone but herself. She had had no choice. He had been _dying_. Even if he knew, he had told her to use the transporter for herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He had barely been conscious when she sent him away, but she remembered the blood on his pale lips and he was still smiling at her, in spite of the pain, before he figured out what she was really doing.

She remembered the way he sounded so heartbroken and how he’d reached for her, before she slammed home the final command on the teleporter that sent him away. His fingers had just barely brushed her cheek before he had disappeared completely in a flash of light. She could still feel his ghostly touch on her skin.

The transporter that had been meant for her, she had used on him, used the last coordinates she knew where the island was. She hadn’t been wholly truthful with Allen in the last few years. She remembered one person from her life previously, if only barely, and that was the Doctor and she remembered King’s Rock Isle. Sort of. It was all so hazy. Yamatai had stolen away so much, she could only just recall bits of the Doctor, snippets really. She did remember his little blue box and sometimes…sometimes, she found herself dreaming of it.

It was bigger on the inside.

Other than that…it was blank. She didn’t remember anything about herself, not really.

But none of that was important. What was important was that hopefully someone on that island, they could help Allen. She had seen the bite on his right arm and knew what it meant. She had seen his stomach and the injury there had been worse still. There had been so much blood.

She had tried to hold it together, to keep hope burning, before falling to despair. Tried to find the burnt bodies of the other werewolves, the ones hired to take her away and…give her to someone. Someone named Xerxes. She tried to find the transporters that they had but they were all burnt up too, destroyed beyond repair. Nothing but melted plastic and scorched metal.

_Idiot._

That was when she had started crying. She’d ruined her chances to leave too. She cried in the ruined hovel of the palace for days, cried until she couldn’t anymore, and then when she could, she started all over again. She cried for sending Allen away, for breaking the promise they’d made together, for him losing his humanity to a fucking werewolf bite, to the fact that she couldn’t even do one thing— _the one fucking thing she had promised herself_ —and that was _protect him_.

One thing, _one fucking thing_ , and she couldn’t even do _that_.

She was a failure.

_I had to send him away. He’ll hate me for that if he lives, he’ll hate me and if he lives through it…_

He’ll have to live like her, if he survived.

 _A werewolf. A fucking_ werewolf _. It’s my fault. It’s all_ my fault _. Those fucking assholes were here because of me and it’s_ my _fault. It’s_ my _fault he got hurt, it’s_ my _fault he’s going to be like_ me _._

It made her sick to her stomach for days more, so much so, she couldn’t even care less when Himiko returned or when the Solarii were back in full force. Ash left when the place began to swarm with them, retreating back home. She didn’t have the heart to do what she needed to get done, not now, not like this. She’s already done enough damage.

That, and she really was feeling sick to her stomach, every morning now without fail. It wasn’t until after the third or fourth day that she finally got herself up to slowly shake away her wallowing misery to leave and go find the plants that helped with nausea. There was no one else left to do it but herself.


	31. Cruel

**Cruel**

“Please. Please stop.”

“You know, if you put a picture of yourself in a locket, you could say that you’re in-de-pendant.”

“Ash…”

“I’m glad I know sign language. It’s become quite handy.”

Allen groaned and Ash cackled. He threw her a halfhearted glare and she only beamed back, looking about as innocent as she could. Ash, he’s come to find, couldn’t pull cute and adorable to save her life. It just didn’t work. She was pretty, not cute. But she tried. God, she tried.

Sort of.

“Why do you like those terrible jokes?”

“Because they’re punny.”

“Oh dear god…”

“I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra; it was a booby trap!”

Her laughter cut short when he lunged suddenly, trying to claw the book of her hands. She started laughing harder, trying to put her knee between them, holding the book as far as she was able and capable of doing.

“It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope, it’ll still be stationary!”

“This is cruel and unusual punishment, Ash—give me that book!”

“NEVER! A boiled egg in the morning is really hard to beat! Hey, it’s talking about you, Allen!”

In spite of himself, Allen found he was laughing as he tried to wrest the book from Ash, who finally got a foot pulled up and pushed him halfheartedly away. He tried to pull her pawed foot aside, but she stubbornly kept him at length, sniggering all the while.

“What did the triangle say to the circle? You’re so pointless!”

He finally managed to push her leg aside, too quick for her to retaliate and snatched up the book, leaping away from the couch in triumph and breathing hard. Ash wasn’t far behind him and promptly tackled him bodily. They crashed into the coffee table and he thought he heard something crack but he was all too busy wrestling with the werewolf to really care at that point.

“No! No more pun jokes!”

“Gimme my book back!”

“No!”

He rolled away from her grip, breaking loose and pushed up to his feet, holding the book up far above his head. He grinned at Ash, who alternated between glowering at his smug face and the book high above her head. She narrowed her eyes, her tail wagging back and forth in agitated arcs. Slowly, a realization dawned on him when he noticed the tension in her frame. He held his free hand out, pointing at her.

“No. No, don’t you dare, Ash—”

She leapt at him with a howl, trying to claw and crawl her way up to his outstretched arm. If she couldn’t reach, she’d climb. He toppled over at the swaying, unbalanced weight and the book went sailing from his grip. Ash yelled, shouted, trying and failing to snatch it out of the air as they both went crashing to the floor. Allen grunted. Oh, if he wasn’t going to have bruises by tomorrow, he would now.

Ash didn’t dislodge herself. One foot was pressed to his chest, another on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around the one he had held up above his head with the book. She didn’t even resist when he disentangled himself. She was staring off somewhere else and when he followed her gaze, he groaned, feeling his stomach slither lower into his abdomen until it completely disappeared.

Of course.

Of _course_ the book fell into the fire. Of all the places, out of all the space in the room, it just had to fall into the damned fire. Ash was staring, dismayed and wide eyed, at the quickly disappearing pages as the fire licked it up greedily.

“Ash, I…”

When she pushed him, he skid back a good three meters. It startled him badly enough that he lost track of where she went, although he had a few ideas. He sighed.

“That wasn’t what I meant to do with it…”

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

He was a little more than surprised to see Ash up and about the next morning. He had been expecting her to sulk or slip away in the dead of night to stay away for a few days. She was sitting on the couch, her paws propped up on the coffee table, reading from a book. Ash didn’t acknowledge him and he wasn’t entirely shocked by that.

 _I accidentally burned up her book, of course she’d be mad at me,_ he thought glumly, until he noticed she wasn’t reading from one of her usual books. It was one of her leather-bound ones.

Ash flicked her gaze from the page, just for a moment, to meet his eyes. Then they were back on the page again.

“I’d tell you a chemistry joke, but I know I wouldn’t get a reaction.”

No.

No, she didn’t.

She couldn’t have.

“I can’t believe I got fired from the calendar factor. All I did was take a day off!”

Oh, god, she did. Of _course_ she did.

“I’m reading a book about anti-gravity. It’s impossible to put down.”

Allen groaned, burying his face into the palms of his hands. Of course Ash had memorized the entire damned pun joke book and she rewrote it.

“ _Why_?”


	32. Deep in Thought

**Deep in Thought**

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Ash said softly. He felt her shift on the bed behind him, and she traced her fingers lightly down his back. His shivers came close to a flinch; away from her touch and all that entailed to it. She took pause, quiet as ever, assessing his reaction, then retraced her path. Right over the scars that marred him from his own sword, through and through. There was curiosity in her silent inquiry, he could tell without her ever having asked.

He took a breath, trying to steel himself and realizing that Ash wasn’t the only one who had some form of sensitivity when it came to scars. When her hand ventured to his shoulder, he reached for it, gripping just the first few knuckles of her fingers. He almost expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. He was grateful for that small token of patience.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” he admitted.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He huffed a small laugh, a wry smile briefly touching his lips.

“It’s nothing. Really.”

“‘Nothing’ almost always translates into ‘something’.”

He felt her body heat pressing in closer, and seconds later, the pressure of her body against his was palpable. Her head pressed to his shoulder, the curve of her body plied to his and of course, there was the hot touch of her skin to his. She was warm and soft and not just physically, either. It was only around him she showed this side of herself, in private away from prying eyes. Sometimes, he felt privileged to be the only one allowed to see her as such. Other times, he wished she would open herself up a little more to others when they came around, to show she wasn’t always so hard and calloused as the way she portrayed herself as. Granted, not many others came to the island, but still. 

At the moment, however, he was tempted to lose himself in her, to forget the troubling thoughts that kept coming back full circle.

When she wrapped an arm around him and her fingers just barely brushed his scar on his chest, his left hand raced to pull her away. To stop her.

“Allen?”

His grip tightened and he stopped himself instead, fingers lacing with hers.

“I’m sorry, I…”

Every time he tried to tell her—about Mana, about Cross’s actual death, about the Fourteenth, about everything—he lost the will to continue. To voice his concerns, fearing the worst. Deep down, he knew she wouldn’t be frightened off by any of it. Especially about the cryptic message Cross had left him with the last they’d spoken. The last Allen had seen him well and alive.

Deeper down still, though…irrationality ruled over him and stopped him well before he started. It was an irrational fear, yes, but a fear nonetheless. One that prevented him from telling her. The longer he waited, the more he felt it held no relevance. How was he supposed to tell her about it all and expect anything to change for the better?

“Allen…it’s okay.” He shivered this time when he felt her lips press gently on his shoulder. Heat blossomed at her touch. “You don’t have to tell me everything, if you don’t want. God knows I haven’t exactly told you everything about me. Not that I can, but still. And that’s okay. Take your time…or don’t, if you feel that strongly about not saying anything. I know enough about you and you know enough about me. And that should be all that matters, right?”

“You don’t care?” He felt his heart sink a little.

“It isn’t that I don’t care. I do. But pushing you away by trying to pry when you aren’t ready to tell me and share…I’d rather you take your time.”

“It’s been almost six years.”

“Well…if it takes you another six years to stop clamming up, then…so be it. I’ll wait.”

When she applied another kiss against his bare skin, he nearly sobbed. She was a fierce woman who knew how to make even the biggest beasts fall to their knees, whip up a raging inferno in the blink of an eye, or rip through entire armies with just her bare hands. But she also knew how to show him a kind of tenderness that was a soothing balm, a catharsis, when it was needed. She knew when to be a shoulder to lean on for many an occasion, sometimes without even needing to be told.

Especially now.

No pressure, no prying, just patience. Understanding. Love.

Years ago, if someone had told him when he first met Ash, that she was capable of being like this, he probably would have laughed and thought them a liar. She had been cold and aloof, wearing a mask of indifference to any and all who came upon her. He was glad now he’d proven that wrong, found the warmth and kindness she had hidden away for much too long and had coaxed it to the surface. It had taken time, effort, patience, and quite a lot of heartache between the two of them, but it had been worth it in the end. 

He often wondered how in the world he had come to deserve someone like her in his life.

One day…one day, he’d tell her more. Tonight just wasn’t the time. He kept telling himself that, over and over again, as he rolled over to face her and pulled her in tight to him.


	33. Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Apologies for the lengthy delay between updates. I was recently honourably discharged from the military, and I've been busy filing my medical claims, as well as getting myself inserted into school life before class registration begins. I also still have family in town, so my time has been mainly focused on spending time with them.
> 
> I've also some other news; I started up a tumblr account for the Crash-centric world, which encompasses Left Behind and Dying Light as well. Please feel free to drop by crashed-into-you.tumblr.com, and be on the look out for more content as the story unfolds!

**Notes**

“C’mon—you’ve got to give us more about this place! How in the hell has no one been able to keep tabs on an island this far to the south of Japan! With all the World War II bunkers all over this place, you’d think everyone would have kept a more ideal profile on Yamatai! Look, there’s evidence of American, German, and Japanese forces having come to this place—that’s a little bit suspicious! How did you even find this place?”

Ash was glowering sullenly at the four pairs of eyes watching her expectantly. Allen could practically taste the tension in the air, electrified and hot and muggy. Elena, the only woman in the group, seemed to sense more than her three other companions and gently eased the most eager of them all back.

“Nate…maybe you should give her some space.”

Sam, the taller and ganglier man, caught on quicker than Nate. He settled back in his seat, but Allen could see the questions still brimming in his eyes, the eagerness in his body language.

“Wha—Elena, c’mon, you’ve got to realize how big a deal this is! Yamatai was lost for thousands of years, and a lot of historians don’t even agree that the island was so far west into the Dragon’s Triangle, but look at it now— _it is!_ ”

He cast an exasperated look over at Ash, and then a pleading look over at Allen. Allen shrugged helplessly, offering a smile and a shrug that said quite clearly, ‘ _don’t ask me!_ ’

Even Sully had leaned back as well, taking a more comfortable seat by the fire, smoking away on a cigar.

“We’ve got the time, Nate. Not like we’re going anywhere anytime soon. Not with that goddamn storm out there, we’re not.”

Ash wasn’t long in leaving the group. She eventually ended up back to the stove, her tail bristling, as she worked on meal of the night for them all. Allen abandoned his seat by the fire and came over to her side, gently touching her elbow to gain her attention. She flinched, but she stilled herself just as quickly. He quickly came to realize just how edgy she really was and she was breathing a little too quickly, like she was trying to keep calm.

“Do you want me to take over?”

“I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded tersely, her lips pressing into a thin, hard line as she kept working. He’s never noticed her being this anxious before, even when the larger group of benders and their families had come through this place. Then again, Ash hadn’t been as open with him at the time, and she had probably taken more care to hide it from him, from everyone. Only the raptors had had any clue. Of course they would. That was probably a very clever reason why she had them with her while she had other survivors besides himself around. They acted as a comfort in the face of that anxiety.

He’s never thought of her as a fretful person before, hasn’t noticed or seen the evidence as clearly as he was now. She really wasn’t used to dealing with people in groups. Allen was truly the only person she seemed to actively tolerate. He found that it was oddly humbling and just a little bit sad. _If we get off this island, she’s not going to like being in or around large crowds for a very long time._

That was just one of many things they’d have to work on after they left.

“Can you…” She stopped, long enough to grab an old dish towel and wipe her hands clean. It gave her time to gather her words. “Can you grab the…the journal. In my room.”

“Which one?”

She had quite a few of them.

“It’s got white paint on the front cover. It’ll be the only one with that. It won’t be hard to miss.”

Allen frowned, unsure of what she was getting at. Slowly, he traipsed away all the same, ducking into her room. The candles were already lit and he wouldn’t have put it past her to have done it before he even stepped away from her. How she knew where they were without seeing them and hadn’t unintentionally ignited elsewhere was beyond him.

He was just glad that they never seemed to suffer from any accidental fires at home.

It took some scrounging around Ash’s room, and he found quite a few journals she had on hand—but the one she mentioned, he eventually discovered. Allen turned the book over in his hands, the pages yellowed and delicate with age. It was very old, he deduced. Older than a few decades. When he opened it at random, he was greeted with the sight of a sketch, heavy with shadows and light. It was a reimagining of one of the more ancient structures on Yamatai. It was depicted as whole and untouched by the ravages of time.

He turned the pages, slowly and carefully, recognizing Ash’s messy scrawled handwriting crammed in here and there; footnotes alongside the sketches. Allen gently touched the aged pages. The architectural sketches ranged from rough and quick to detailed and thoughtful. Allen turned a few more pages, found some of them covered solely in text without a sketch to be found.

And judging from the delicacy of the pages…

These must have been from when she first came to this place, he thought with surprise. This book was old, much older than he had originally gauged. Cautiously, he closed the book, making sure not to crease or crumple any pages the wrong way, and exited her room.

Their guests were beginning to dig into dinner and Allen found his stomach give a hungry lurch at the smell of all the food. Ash caught his eye briefly. They flicked away from him, darting over toward the four sitting around the fire. Just from the small amount of time he’s spent around the four, they all had a vested interest in ancient civilizations and were very enthusiastic about history.

Lavi and Bookman would both have enjoyed talking to them, he just knew it. And it was hard not to enjoy their company. He was a bit disappointed knowing that they would soon be leaving, although at the same time, he knew it to be for the best. Their starry-eyed wonder had already been shot down at the presence of Báthory’s appearance earlier that day, as well as the attacks from the Solarii…

Any more encounters such as that would certainly put more than just a damper on anyone’s enthusiasm.

Sully was the first to notice Allen returning and he nodded to him, his mouth full of meat. He hurriedly swallowed down his food and motioned for Allen to come closer.

“Kid, I don’t know what this stuff is that you and her went and caught, but it is good.”

Allen didn’t miss the flicker of movement toward the book in his hands, the unspoken question in the older man’s eyes. The others glanced his way. Elena smiled wanly, covering her mouth briefly to wipe away the grease, while Sam and Nate both nodded to him.

“Yeah, what is this stuff?”

“Trike.” Allen said, before he paused.

“Trike?” Nate repeated, exchanging questioning looks between the others.

Ash already beat him to the punch as she appeared at his side, a large stack of food piled high on a worn plate.

“Triceratops.”

He took the plate with a quiet thanks and she in turn, took the book with a thanks of her own.

The other four, he noted from the corner of his eye, were staring openly at Ash in disbelief.

“You’re kidding me,” Sam finally blurted. He was looking at his plate with wide eyes.

“No,” Allen answered, a thin smile pulling at his lips. “We’re not.”

Ash glanced at him, and he broadened his smile a smidgeon. She was still as tense as she had been earlier, but he could sense a shift in her. A sliver of solidarity was what she needed and she recognized it. One of them said something, but what it was, Allen didn’t catch it. The moment between himself and Ash broke when she averted her gaze, dropping it to the book in her hands. She ran a hand over the supple leather cover before she stepped away. She headed straight for Nate, who froze when she stopped before him and shoved the book in his face.

He stared up at her, tilting his head with an eyebrow perked up.

“What’s this?”

“Information.”

“About…?”

“What do you think?”

Nate’s smile faltered as he put his plate aside to take the book. With that done, Ash turned on her heel, her claws scraping along the wooden floor. Elena was already scooting closer to Nate on one side, Sam and Sully the other, crowding in to view the book. Ash came to settle beside Allen and when she did, he asked her very softly, “Why give that to them?”

“So they’ll stop talking to me,” Ash responded, her words strained and tight. Their four guests were already so engrossed in the sketches and information, it was as though she and Allen didn’t exist. They were too absorbed.

“What, exactly, is in there? I saw some sketches, but…” He trailed off, hoping for some more. Ash sighed quietly.

“Enough data to keep them from talking to me for the rest of the night.”

He eyed her questioningly.

“You never gave that to me to read,” he pointed out to her.

“You weren’t as nosy or persistent.”

Allen scowled at her.

“Oh, thank you so much for that. Really, that is such a wonderful thing to hear,” he quietly griped at her. He swore he saw her lips twitch into a smile, but it was too quick for him to be sure.

“You don’t like reading all that much. You should be grateful I spared you the doldrums of my writings.”

His scowl morphed into a frown.

“But I like your drawings,” he said gently. She exhaled, considering her next words carefully. 

“You can look through it later. When they’re gone.” She paused. “Go eat. I’m going to go check on Báthory and Carmilla.”

“You’re not going to have dinner?”

“No. I’m good. I’m…not feeling it right now.”

 “You haven’t been eating much lately.”

“I’ll be fine when they’re gone. I told you earlier, my tolerance for people is beyond capacity.”

She was still stressed, still anxious, still tense. She wasn’t going to be feeling right until their guests were gone. If only four people could have her wound up tighter than a spring, he could only imagine how she had felt when their last group had come through and he concluded it must have been much worse for her. Just how stressed must she had been, dealing with nearly two dozen people, all of them demanding answers or attention.    
  
“Please be careful out there.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“Was that a joke?”

She smiled wanly and turned from him, plucked up an unstrung bow and full quiver of arrows before slipping away outside. Their guests barely even noticed.


	34. Not Over Yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Set sometime after Chapter 17, but well before Chapter 23.

**Not Over Yet**

“Stop trying to ruin the surprise!”

Allen laughed and pulled at the strip of clothe over Ash’s eyes down for the third time, ignoring her grumbling remarks.

“Are we there yet?”

“You’re so impatient,” he chided her.

“I’m not exactly a fan of being led around whilst blindfolded through hostile territory.”

“Well, can you hear anything dangerous heading our way?”

“Not my point, but no. No, I do not.”

“Then what do we have to worry about?”

“Do you even know where we’re going? We’re not going to end up lost, are we? I know how you can get.”

“I know you know I’ve got a raptor around here…somewhere…hmm. Where’d he go?”

“On your left.”

“Ah. Right. Thank you,” Allen felt his face flush a little as he finally spotted Carver. The raptor paused, tail bobbing, head snaking back and forth, crest rising and falling. The raptor continued back on his rounds, weaving between the underbrush and trees ahead of them.

“You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.” He paused, glancing back at Ash with a frown. “Can you see through that?”

“…no?”

He reached over and promptly pulled her hands up to cover her eyes for good measure. “We aren’t climbing anything, and you won’t need them yet. Trust me.”

“I feel like I should be worried.”

“I’ve got this.”

“I feel like I should be worried even more.”

He resisted the urge to heave a sigh, and instead, gently pressed a hand to Ash’s back, guiding her along the trail they were on. Ash’s ears flicked about, rotating slowly atop her head while her tail twitched and flicked impatiently. The trail they were on led to a small clearing and the clearing opened up to a cliff that overlooked the mountains and the forests, all the while opening up to show a good view of the sun setting. Carver cough-barked at him as they arrived and trilled softly as he circled the fire pit Allen had dug up the day prior.

He helped Ash sit down on one of the logs around the pit, sat his pack down beside her and quickly got the fire started.

“I smell smoke and I hear fire. What are you planning?”

“Just—trust me. Just a few more minutes, all right?”

If he had set this up earlier and left it all out, he knew some critter or another would have spirited away everything. It was a bit of a pain to have to set everything up like this, but it would be worth it.

“Are you done yet?”

“What was it you’re always telling me? Patience is a virtue?”

“Oh, ha-ha. Very funny.”

He grinned a little and continued with setting everything up from his pack. Ash fell oddly silent as he worked, turning her blindfolded attentions to the crackling fire. He noticed offhandedly how even and calm her breathes were, and when he took pause to glance at the fire, he noticed how it rose and fell in time with her breathing.

“Do you do that often?” He inquired as he pulled out a loaf of bread, wrapped in a bundle of Trike-skin.

“Do what?” She countered, turning her head in his direction, ears stiff to hone in on him. Even without her eyes, he reasoned she could be formidable in a fight. Perhaps not on the same level as Noise Marie, but close enough. She tilted her head a little when he didn’t answer quite fast enough, humming softly. “Allen?”

“Sorry. Lost in thought. Ah, what I meant was…do you often subconsciously control fire or is it an unintended affect you just have?”

“Hmmm…” She tilted her head back and raised a hand toward the fire, wriggling her fingers. The fire shivered and embers floated freely into the air into her awaiting grasp and she twirled her outstretched hand, swirling the tendril of flame into a coiled snake. “It’s…hard to explain. I’m not sure anymore. I know it’s a lame answer, but…I just don’t know. I’ve never really stopped to think about it.”

Without another word, she willed the snake wrapped around her arm out of existence, its light winking away without fanfare. She returned her hand back to her lap and she rocked back and forth in her seat.

“Almost done,” he reassured her, just as he pulled out the last item from his pack: the little electronic music device Ash was so fond of. He caught a glimpse of Ash smiling from the corner of his eye, her head once more cocked to the side in a curious fashion.

“What are you doing?”

He was rather surprised at her complacency. He almost half-expected her to have ripped away the blindfold much earlier on and keep it that way.

“Okay. You can take it off now.”

Ash didn’t waste time. She yanked it off, took one breathe and one look—and stopped, hand frozen with the strip of clothe still in hand, eyes wide and drinking in the setup.

A flat stone that was as close to a table he could get was full of snacks they’d usually reserve for when they were out scouting the island: jerky, nuts, berries, and other assorted odds and ends, alongside one of Ash’s bottles of wine. He had them laid out on an expansive piece of Trike-skin leather. She met his gaze after belated seconds of wordless silence, eyebrows raising up and an anxious smile pulling at her lips.

“Um…what is this?”

“Well, what does it look like to you?”

She continued to stare at him levelly, not uttering another peep. He decided to break the silence between them, offering a smile and swept a hand over the boulder-sans-table.

“It’s a picnic. I thought we could do something different tonight.” Allen flicked his gaze down to the music device, sheepishly holding it out to her. “Here. I think it’s best you work this thing out. I tried and I think I almost broke it.”

“It’s not that hard.” Her smile eased from nervous to relaxed in the span of a few breathes. She extended her hands out, paused, then motioned for him to come along as well as she took everything from him. “Here, look. It’s touch-activated, see? You spin this dial. And these symbols represent play and pause, back, and forward. Menu is pretty self-explanatory.”

He did as he was bid, settling on the log beside her, and almost immediately, he could feel the waves of heat exuding off of her, like sitting next to another fire. The screen lit up at her touch, and a menu popped up clear as day. Ash scrolled through and hit ‘albums’, perused through a long list of selections, then settled on someone called “ _Jónsi_ ”. Soft, lilting and upbeat music began to play and she set it off to her other side, shortly before the singer gave himself away.

She turned to him with a sigh and a curious light in her eyes.

“Okay, now what?”

“Have you…have you ever had a picnic?”

“No. I don’t…no. I don’t do picnics.” Her expectant stare morphed into a distracted sort of stiffness as she dropped her gaze, lips tugging into a thin frown. “I don’t think you quite get that this place isn’t exactly the place to be having picnics, anyway.”

“Is there a storm on its way?”

“No.”

“Do you think Himiko might come back at any moment?”

“Yes.”

“Ash!” He laughed at her answer. “You’re supposed to say no.”

“Oh.” Ash paused. “I still stand by my yes.”

He chuckled softly. “Let’s just…pretend for just a little bit, then. That we’re not here. On Yamatai, I mean, and that we’re somewhere else.”

She stared at him dumbly at first, ears flaring to press tightly against her head. At first, he believed something in what he’d said was wrong somehow. He almost backpedaled into an apology but stopped short when the corner of her lips lifted into a faint smile.

“Okay. I can do that.” She said softly. There was a bit of a light in her eyes, like she was actually trying to picture it, or maybe it was just the way the fire was reflecting off of them. Either way, Allen thought them rather pretty in that moment. When he had first met Ash, her mismatched gaze had been so disconcerting and cold, and now there was warmth in her gaze. It was hard associating the two kinds of stares with the same person now, even if he knew she was still fully capable of switching at the drop of a hat.

Ash cleared her throat, pulling him from his thoughts. “So, what now? How—how does this all work?”

“You were serious, weren’t you,” he replied, surprised. He was a little dubious at her claims, but the longer he stared, the more he realized she was being absolutely serious. “You’ve never had a picnic before?”

She shrugged, looking about as sheepish as she could get. He frowned, scratching the back of his head. “Well, I…honestly, I’ve never had one before, either, but—I’ve seen people have them, from afar. They looked…” He glanced up at the fire, lost in the thought as he stared into the flames, hazy images of people under shady trees and sunny blue skies off the beaten path, wearing nice clothes. Nibbling on food, laughing, smiling. “They looked happy.”

He nearly startled when he felt a hand clasp over his, although he calmed almost as quickly when he looked back at Ash. She gave his hand a little squeeze.

“We could pretend to be that, too.”

A lump grew in his throat. He had to fight to get it back down before he trusted himself to speak again. “I think I’d rather not pretend and actually be happy, if it’s all the same.”

She studied him carefully, her mask back in place as she stared. He wished she wouldn’t do that. It made it all that much harder to connect. He wondered if she realized she was doing it, or if it was just a kneejerk reaction for her to compartmentalize.

“I think…I think I’d like that, too.”

His breath caught in his chest, tight and strained, when she leaned against him. And just as quickly, the shock wore off. He was getting used to this. Ash didn’t like being touched by others. It was only when she initiated contact that she felt comfortable enough to allow them to be that close. Allen was still trying to figure out why in that, but he wasn’t going to question her every time she got close like this. Not outright, that was.

For a time, they sat like that in comfortable silence, as night fell over them and the only light left around them came from the campfire. The chorus of night critters was slow to come, but it arose all the same, adding to the musical accompaniment they already had playing. After some time, however, Ash began to stir and the content atmosphere between them shifted as well. She cleared her throat and nodded over toward the array of food with a brow ticked up.

“So, um…what next?”

“Well, we can eat a little of that, and oh…right. Hang on.” He was loathe to stand up and disturb what little comfort they had left, but he did so with great reluctance. Allen plucked up the unlabeled bottle of wine, handing it over to Ash. “I don’t want any, I have water, but I thought maybe you’d like some of this.”

She took the bottle, rolling it over in her hands and the liquid inside sloshed about noisily as she did so. She frowned for a moment, before a smile alit her face. She reached over and dragged his pack to her, stuffing it back inside. “Nahhh. I think we should save that for Operation You-Know-What.”

“Ash…”

He groaned. She was still on about that Operation…whatever. He wouldn’t even deign to acknowledge it by its actual name. Ash teased him every so often that she’d find a way to get him to drink this upcoming Christmas. He made a show of rolling his eyes at her and that only made her grin bigger before she got up and sauntered over toward the makeshift rock table.

“So, moving on…is this it?”

“I couldn’t exactly drag a sled full of meat along with us, now could I?” He smiled wanly at her. “It wouldn’t have been smart of me.”

“Finally, some common sense.” She winked at him and laughed, even when he scowled half-hearted in her direction. “Although to be fair, good call.” A pause. “We’re gonna pig out when we get home, aren’t we.”

“I don’t think that’s a very fair question, because you already know the answer.” They shared a rather conspiratorial grin with one another. “And that won’t be until later. This isn’t over yet.”

Allen motioned around them, before he took another pause and noticed several pairs of glittering eyes watching from the tree line. Ash noticed his stare and followed his gaze. She smiled, and uttered a few soft whistles and chitters that still marveled him, even to this day. Allen remembered reading that werewolves had a wider range of vocalizations than human beings, and utilized them to their fullest. Ash was no exception, and has used her vocal talents to lure unsuspecting prey closer to where he and Ash were when they hunted in the forests.

Out of the foliage stepped the raptor pack, heads bobbing as they confidently strode toward them. Their eyes glittered in the firelight and their feathers shimmered. Clover, predictably came circling around to greet him, gently butting her head against his and uttering soft chatter and intermittent purrs into his ear. Ash watched with an amused smile as the pack settled around them. He stood, patting the Dakotaraptor gently on the snout and joined Ash by the stone table, picking up a strip of Para jerky and taking a bite of it. He stole a glance upward.

“The stars will be out soon.”

She looked up as well. “Yeah. Maybe in a little we can douse the fire so we can watch before we go.”

Allen looked back at Ash, and saw another smile gracing her features. He found himself smiling too.

“I think I’d like that.”


	35. Race

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Set during Chapter 18, from Ash's perspective.

**Race**

That stupid, goody-two-shoes, Messiah-complex-riddled sonuvabitch!

If he wasn't dead already, she was going to kill him herself.

What in the hell was he _thinking_ , if he had been thinking _at all_? Was he not paying attention to where they were going? Or had he gotten mixed up, turned all around in the mist and once again famously lost?

Ash was highly doubting it at this point. She was starting to realize rather quickly, as she followed his scent mark, that Allen's path was too deliberate, not the stumbled trail of a lost man. He was going back for the goddamned Solarii! They were going to kill him, if the Oni didn't get to him first, and if they didn't, then she would.

_If I've told him once, I've told him a thousand fucking times, don't ever go back for the fucking Solarii, and don't go rushing headlong into a squad of goddamned Oni! Now he's doing both at once!_

The air was thick with the scent of blood, both fresh and days old. The lumpy shape of the Carnie's fresh corpse loomed into sight between the trees and mist first before the other bodies did. More Solarii than Oni bodies littering the scene than when she and Allen had first come through. She scuffled through a few, checking their pulses, although it was rather pointless.

Some had arrows in their heads, others spattered with dark blood over their fronts. Just as she caught a whiff of Allen's blood and her own blood turned to ice, she heard a feeble whine coming from one of the Solarii's bodies.

Ash spun on her heel toward the sound, tail puffing up in agitation as a deep growl rose up from her chest. Her anger found a new source to be taken out on. It was because of these assholes Allen was gone! She wanted to take her fury out on someone and even if she knew it was stupid and childish and pointless, it would have made her feel better. But almost as soon as she felt her anger flare up, it was withered just as quickly at the sight of the body she found.

 _He's not going to make it,_ she immediately thought. Actual pity welled up inside her. If he were more alive, she probably would have beaten him to a literal pulp, but this was like shooting fish in a barrel. It just wasn't sporting enough or even worth the effort. She was annoyed at having been robbed of her revenge, however petty her reasons for wanting to enact upon it was.

The man in question had several stab wounds to his gut and she could see bits of his insides spattering his clothing. Half of his face was cleaved open, leaving it red and ugly and bloodied. To top it all off, one of his legs had been hacked off to boot. Blood was slowly pooling all around him and soaking up into the leaf litter. His eyes were barely open and they were glazed over with pain, but she could see that they were just barely focused on her.

How he was still alive, she would never really know, but she was somewhat glad.

She didn't like that she smelling Allen's freshly spilled blood mingling in the air. It worried her more than she liked admitting. Spilt blood could mean anything. She didn't know if he was dead or alive. Nearly all of her anger at him was quickly withering away and being replaced by apprehension for his wellbeing.

"Come to…finish me, Fire Walker?"

He could barely even manage a laugh, it was so pathetic to hear. Ash stared down at him for a moment before she knelt beside the man.

"Did they take him to the monastery?"

"Who? Your little _toy_?"

It took all of her self-restraint to keep herself from knocking the Solarii brother's goddamned teeth down his fucking throat just to wipe that shit-eating grin off of his blood-stained face.

"Did they take him? _Did they take Allen?_ " She repeated more sternly, her eyes flashing dangerously and her teeth bared to show off her fangs. The Solarii fell quiet and for a startling moment, she almost would have believed he'd finally died from blood loss. If only she couldn't hear his slowing heartbeat still going. She was relieved when he lolled his head in a listless nod before it completely rolled over, a hiss of breath puffing past his lips. His heart stopped, and his life was no more.

Ash hesitated before reaching to pull his eyelids down over his eyes.

"Just as I thought," she muttered to herself, straightening up, and taking a few steps in the new direction Allen's scent was going. Reluctantly, she stopped, glancing back at the Solarii brother's body. She gave it a nod. "Thanks. See you when you come back."

He wouldn't remember this encounter with her or this death. None of them ever remembered previous encounters with her. Not a one. The only thing they knew was that she was the monster on their island that they were determined to kill.

Ash didn't waste another second and took off at a reckless speed, weaving her way through the treacherous landscape with ease. She hated this fucking island, there was no doubt about that. But she knew it by heart—every tree, rock, cliff, bunker, and rotting vehicles and all.

Her rage fueled her to move fast. Her worry and fear practically gave her wings as she arrived at the monastery in record time, even by her standards. The only thought that kept rolling through her head the entire time was for Allen to be alive. The Oni weren't usually ones to take live prisoners, but it was rare that they dragged back an unconscious Solarii brother or shipwreck survivor to their nest.

 _Please…_ please _don't let them have killed him. Please, just let him be alive. Please._

She was racing against the clock and this was one she didn't intend to lose.

Even if Allen was dead—and a hard knotted lump caught in her throat at the idea—she wouldn't let them have him. She wouldn't, _couldn't_ , leave him there to rot. Not amongst the poor bastards who weren't lucky enough to escape the Oni.

He deserved better, if that even turned out to be the case.

She was just hoping like hell that it wasn't.


	36. Wildflowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Did Ash do people things right? She doesn’t know. She thinks she did. She gets a gold sticker for trying.
> 
> On a side note, art is being added here and there to chapters on Dying Light. For example, ‘Names Part II’ is now having art of all the raptors pinned at the end. All seven will be included when all pieces are completed. They will also be in the **crashed-into-you** tumblr account I’ve made for this connected universe, and headcanons are slowly being added as well!
> 
> Another side note, Crash has been updated! Go read!

**Wildflowers**

The rains had come early this spring. It melted most of the icy reservoirs that had clung stubbornly to the mountains over the winter, giving way to a lush growth of new and thriving plant life.

The cherry blossoms especially were blooming beautifully this year.

Occasionally, he’d catch sight of pretty pink petals dancing in the wind when they were surveying the valleys and forests. Despite all the horror that has been seen and committed on Yamatai, Allen wasn’t one to hold back on admitting that there was some kind of savage and quiet beauty on the island. There were small niches that could be spent in silent reverence that had not yet seen the violence and bloodshed. There were still little places of peace scattered about that were still pure enough to enjoy and forget about all the terror, even if only for a time.

“What are you doing?”

Ash was watching him with open curiousity, toting her usual fare of weapons: her bow and quiver of arrows, her knives, a pistol, and an extremely outdated rifle—those were her standards and her words, not his.

To him, the rifle was several decades more advanced than what he’s seen from his time period, even if he’s only glimpsed them from a distance and for scant moments in the past. Ash, in retrospect, complained about them. When he asked what she expected or wanted on an island that had hosted a war decades before she was even born, she would whine a little about how she couldn’t remember, but that the weapons she wanted were closer to her generation.

If she could only remember which generation that was, exactly.

“You do realize that you’re also using one of the earliest and oldest weapon known to humankind, besides the club and the spear, right?”

It became a muddled, grumbling event from her after that, which eventually devolved into sullen silence, and eventually that petered out into grudging acknowledgement that maybe, _just maybe_ , he was right.

It took her a while to come to the final stages, but it was worth it in the end.

Sometimes.

Ash canted her head to the side a little as she waited for him to answer and he shook his thoughts away, clearing his throat.

“Nothing important, I just haven’t really stopped to appreciate the view in such a long while.”

“What view?”

“The flowers.”

“The…flowers,” she repeated, ticking a brow upwards while her lips thinned out into a firm line. She stole a glance around them, at the wildflowers that were blooming brightly amongst the green foliage and the churning river not that far from where they stood. “What about the flowers, exactly?”

“We don’t get to see them very often. The storms usually destroy any chance for them to grow.”

Ash’s expression morphed from curiousity to that of pure befuddlement. “I…never thought of you as a flower-lovin’ kind of guy.”

“I’m not, not really. I’m only noticing them a bit more than usual because of the lack of storms and well, it _is_ springtime.” He smiled a bit, glancing over at the thriving flora. “I guess I never took the time to properly notice until now.”

It took him the better part of five years to actually stop to do so, now that he’s actually thought about it. The revelation both stunned and saddened him, the longer he stared at the blooming flowering plants surrounding them. Ash, he found when he turned to look back at her again, was looking around them as well. Her expression was painted in open confusion and discomfort.

She shifted the sling of her rifle more securely in her grip, as though it brought her a sense of comfort and familiarity, and perhaps it did. Even now, she still found a kind of security in something more acquainted to her, a symbol of a life she had grown used to versus the one she has only just began to notice and still was trying to figure out from afar.

Ash shifted her weight from one leg to the other, casting a cursory glance over her shoulder. “We shouldn’t linger here too much longer. There’s still plenty of Solarii around and I honestly don’t feel like getting shot at today.”

Allen sighed, disliking that he had to admit that she was partly right. He wished she could enjoy the little things a bit more freely, but these kinds of things couldn’t be forced with Ash. Allen already knew that much about her. It took her time to warm up to things. Perhaps in time, she could eventually learn to appreciate the small wonders that Yamatai had to offer, however minute they were. They were small and sparing things, and rarities to boot, and even though he also knew how she hated this island…he also knew she had grown to appreciate other small rarities that still made her smile, even if she didn’t admit to it or not. 

Allen started to follow Ash, but paused for one last look at the field they were leaving.

They were only flowers, of course, they weren’t precious salvage or even the strange begotten ship that they had scavenged years ago, gifted to them by a benevolent and mysterious benefactor. But small wonders such as this shouldn’t be overlooked or ignored. It was a wonder anything beautiful could ever grow naturally on the island, especially with all the violence, bloodshed, and tempestuous storms that plagued it.

Things like this must be so scarce that even Ash has overlooked them as unimportant and not worth her time to notice, even if only for a moment. Not unless they were pointed out to her, that was.

He found a little sad in that moment, as he turned to follow her once again, as they traipsed along a path parallel to the roaring river. They had a long ways to go before they got back home and night would be upon them soon enough.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

“What are you doing?”

Ash froze, tightness lining her shoulders and back, and her tail instantly puffed up until all the fur was standing on end. She didn’t turn to face him, but she had her pack in her hands and lap, and she was hunched over it on the couch, trying and failing to hide it from sight. Allen waited with a frown slowly tugging his lips downward the longer she went without answering.

After nearly a solid thirty seconds, she finally let all the tension slump out of her frame as she turned around. One hand was clenching the shoulder strap tightly and the other was buried deep in the pack itself. She looked rather sullen at being interrupted, shifting her eyes away from him to the hand in her pack.

“You are extremely nosy at extremely inopportune moments sometimes, you know that?”

She sighed, easing the pack open a little more carefully than he thought necessary, until he saw why.

“You…you brought home the flowers from the river?”

Ash nodded mutely, her lips pursing tightly. She only met his gaze for a split second, but it was enough for him and he was surprised at what was left unsaid on her behalf.

She was _embarrassed_.

He’s never quite seen her look quite like this, except in very rare moments over the last few years. In fact, the last time he’s seen her look this abashed, it was when she had been missing for a week in the sea caves and he had to go find her…

Allen found himself smiling as he took a seat beside her, taking care to note just how she met his gaze a little more readily the second time around. He reached for the flowers still in Ash’s tender grip, careful not to disturb the pale blue petals too much as he transferred them to his hands.

“You…liked them, for some reason. I don’t normally bother with them, they don’t have any value when it comes to medicinal or consuming purposes. They’re just flowers, but…” She hesitated. “You liked them. They don’t do much, except look pretty.”

“You have a very strange habit for noticing certain things when it pertains to my behalf,” he remarked lightly, to which she shrugged and mumbled something incomprehensible. It brought out another smile from him. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just something I’ve noticed you do.”

“Isn’t getting little things for others like this supposed to be a good thing? Or something?” She mumbled back. Was it him, or were her cheeks just a bit pinker? That was actually kind of…cute. She couldn’t normally pull off cute.

Carefully, he plucked a single flower from the bunch and nestled it beside one of her ears and into her hair. She froze, her breath hitching fiercely in her throat at the contact and she glanced up at him with suddenly wide eyes.

“What—”

“Do you know what kind of flower this is?” He pressed and she cut herself short, lips quirking a bit.

“I…I don’t…no. No, I don’t.”

“Forget-me-nots.”

“Oh.” She stared a little more carefully at the blue petals with the pale yellow stars, not quite frowning any longer. “I still didn’t have you pegged as a flower guy.”

“I’m not, not really. I just...happen to know a thing or two about different flowers.”

“Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all. Dare I ask how?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“…I’m going to guess…Cross?”

“I’d _really_ rather not say.” He pressed more adamantly and she shrugged in surrender.

“Okay, then…that must mean I’m right.”

He sighed, choosing to ignore the faintly amused if very brief smirk that crossed her features.

“You know, I just realized something. For once, I’m the one telling you something you know nothing about. I think I should savour this for a moment longer.” He grinned openly at her and she rolled her eyes. Ah, yes. There it was. There was the familiar humour and annoyance he was so acquainted with.

“Oh, my god, get on with it. You went to the trouble of telling me the name of these things. Why?”

“There’s meanings and symbolisms with flowers. I’m a little surprised to come across a flower here that I’d normally see in Europe, but it doesn’t degrade it in any way.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s it mean?”

He chuckled softly as he reached over to adjust the flower in her hair. She grew stiff all over again, and he saw in her eyes she was fighting the urge to squirm. She wasn’t a stranger to being touched by him at this stage, but there were times she was still seemingly adjusting. He offered her another smile, this one of comfort and encouragement. Slowly, the uneasiness leaked from her frame, and she let him fix the flower more securely.

“It has several, actually.” He started as he gently pulled a strand of hair down to pin the flower a little more securely in place. “As the name suggests, it’s meant to be a symbol to the recipient that they won’t be forgotten by the giver. In other instances, it could represent the connections between two people, the faith they have in one another.”

She raised a brow and her lips quirked at him. She didn’t need to say anything for him to get the message, or to read the sparking amusement glittering in her eyes.

“Is there anything else?”

“One more,” he conceded with a nod, taking in a slow breathe. “Love. There are several of flowers that represent it as well, but…they represent different facets of love, like roses. Forget-me-nots represent true love. At least, that’s what it’s come to symbolize.”

He let his hand drop as he noticed how focused her mismatched stare was on him.

“That,” she began after a very lengthy pause, leaning back. “That is very cheesy.”

Allen stared at her a moment longer before he laughed. “Perhaps. But, to some people, they take that symbolism seriously. Obviously, you’re not one of those people.”

“Are you?”

“No,” he admitted with a chuckle. “No, I’m not. Putting all faith and communication in some secret language of exchanging flowers to represent how to express one’s self, it just doesn’t come across as meaningful. Not to me, anyway. And if you wished to tell me something, I know you’d tell me, even if it isn’t in words. You have your own way of doing it, and I have mine.”

Another smile and this time, she met him halfway with one of her own, however small and short-lived it was. She was looking at the flowers in his hand. He had nearly forgotten he still had them when she took them back, gentle as ever as she ran a thumb over the delicate pale blue petals. She stood, motioning for him to wait a moment as she trotted out of sight into one of the storage rooms. She came back with a little container, the flowers deposited inside. She set it onto the battered coffee table before collapsing back onto the couch beside him, her gaze still locked on the flowers.

She let her head rest on his shoulder, not saying anything at first, and he in return let the silence continue. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, drawing her in closer. It was a while before either of them spoke again.

“It doesn’t look bad in here. It’s…pretty,” she said quietly after a time. “They don’t smell half bad, either.”

Oh, that was right. Sometimes he forgot just how preternatural Ash’s nose was in comparison to his. She often times didn’t broadcast her hypersensitive senses out loud, and not all that often, especially when it wasn’t necessary. She was more or less silent on the subject, except when it mattered in bringing him into the fold—sight, sound, smell, even taste or touch had its moments of importance.

He found his lips curling into another small smile.

He didn’t put much merit into using flowers to express his affection, but if someone else found comfort in it, then all the more power to them.

They didn’t need the flowers to communicate. Ash had found her own manner of doing so, with other objects when her words failed her. She handcrafted most of her gifts and baubles, or used preexisting materials to further accentuate a piece she had decided to work on. He found it to be more valuable and meaningful, but this was actually a nice touch to spice things up a bit.

Allen also found it a bit amusing that she got him flowers. In most cases, it would have been expected to be the other way around. Ash certainly didn’t conform to regular norms and Allen found he didn’t mind so much. He wouldn’t have expected anything less of her.

 


	37. Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Allen strikes me as the type to do sappy stuff from time to time, although it’s not an absolute constant. Ash is still getting used to that, although he still surprises her. I don’t think she quite gets it yet.

**Birthday**

“I really hope that there’s an explanation for all of this.”

Allen jumped at the sound of Ash’s voice, startled, as he whirled on his heel as his heart thumped away quicker than usual in his chest. She was busy staring at a wrapped parcel sitting on a makeshift table she had recently crafted out of driftwood, lips quirked curiously.

“Because the last time I checked,” she continued as she lifted her gaze to meet his, “I don’t remember the delivery companies ever making it out this far to deliver mail. I’m not even sure the postal office has my new address.”

Even when she was trying to crack wise, he could hear the slightly higher note her voice took on, the tension and suspicion that lined her words. She was still watching him sharply, tapping into that kind of unblinking gaze she rarely used these days that reminded him too much of the raptors. He’s learned over the years to not flinch under the relentless intensity, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel a slight shiver roll down his spine at the reminder that she can still do it and still look intimidating all the while.

It was, after all, one of the first things he noticed about her when they first met.

It wasn’t her looks. It wasn’t her clothes. It wasn’t her ears or her tail or her back paws, or even the thin scar that traced across the bridge of her nose and across her right cheek.

It was her eyes and the way she stared.

Even years later, when warmth had finally given way and melted the icy demeanor she once hid behind, there was still something unnerving about her eyes. However, he’d never admit it aloud to her, not now, not ever, that she still sometimes intimidated him somewhat when she looked at him like that.

“Allen?” She pressed, bringing him back to the present. Shaking away his thoughts, he sauntered over to the table and to her side, scooping up one of the parcels and holding it to her, grinning.

“Open it.”

“What? I-I don’t…what is it?”

“Open it, and find out.”

“No, that’s _not_ what I _meant_ —I meant, what is all of _this_?” She pressed more firmly, motioning to everything with a wave of her hand. His smile fell away, slowly but surely, as he read the distressed expression on her face and the desperate, searching look in her mismatched eyes. His shoulders sagged under the weight of her gaze.

Allen picked his words with meticulous care, not wanting to be misunderstood.

“I was planning on a small sort of celebration, for you.”

Ash furrowed her brow, her lips tugging into a thin, firm line. She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand, and she fell silent.

“You have done plenty for me over the years, and I felt that I should return the favour. Not because I felt absolutely _obligated_ —not entirely. It’s because I _wanted_ to. I know that you don’t remember, exactly, when your birthday was, so I thought perhaps today we could start it.”

She gawked at him openly, clearly astounded by the declaration. He took advantage of her silence and gently pushed the parcel in his hands at her. She took it without a fight. In fact, she took it without even realizing she had.

“You…you can’t just—I don’t—you—I…what? _What_?”

“I’m not taking no for an answer, Ash.”

“You can’t just— _decide_ that!”

“I can and I have.” He pointed out, smirking a little at her. She continued to gape at him helplessly.

Allen would admit, he did like having a bit of an advantage over Ash for once. It was nice to know that, every once in a while, he could surprise her so utterly and completely that she practically had no words.

“ _Why_?”

When he answered her, it came more easily than he initially believed.

“You’ve done so much for me over the last several years, I don’t think I could ever hope to repay that kindness. You’ve gone out of your way to celebrate Christmas and my birthday, and never wanted a thing in return. You don’t ask for anything and I feel as though that’s unbalanced things a little. I don’t need a reason or an excuse to give you anything for any special occasion, but I’d like to start, and it’s because I want to.” His smile relaxed as he tapped the parcel still in her hands. “Please just open it. I think you’ll like it.”

“Allen…I don’t…” Ash stopped herself and took a deep breath, most likely stalling to gather her words. Clearly the shock was beginning to wear off. “I don’t…think I can do this. I don’t even know how old I am.”

“I know. We can just pretend you’re turning twenty or so,” he replied as he grinned at her and was pleased to see her lips twitch, ever so slightly, in response. “C’mon. What’s it going to hurt? It’s not like I’m being forced to do this.”

Her discomfort didn’t look completely alleviated, but neither was she as stiff as she was earlier. Gradually, she began picking at the parcel in her hands, tugging at the string keeping the leather wrapping in place. She slipped it all off and placed it on the table to reveal the small stone box beneath it all.

“That’s just part of it,” he said, when she glanced up at him. “You can store your smaller valuables in there, so they aren’t rattling around in some larger container. Open it. There’s more inside.”

She only nodded, lips pursing, as she flipped the clamshell lid open. Her hand froze as she stared inside. She dipped her hand inside after a few belated moments, her fingers curling around a strip of red clothe.

“My sash. I thought I…”

She didn’t finish, and lifted her gaze back up to meet his questioningly.

“The night I found you, after the Carnie had attacked and you were blinded by Dilo poison, I found that in one of the ruins. Or pieces of it. You had the rest tied around your head and over your eyes, but it was in tatters. I don’t know why, but…I hadn’t thought to return it until recently. I had to fix it first, but, ah…” He pointed at the sash, his smile turning sheepish.

Ash dropped her eyes down again, blinking. Her lips twitched and quirked into a faint smile as she pulled the length of it out fully. It dangled from her hand, and she turned to put the box down so she could hold the sash out fully. Her eyes roved over it, seeing the repaired sections before she stopped at a few parts, where the crimson had ended and the black began.

“I didn’t have all the pieces, sadly. I did the best that I could to fix the damages so it could be long enough,” he said, pausing briefly. “I know it won’t be the same, but…I hope that you like it.”

She returned her gaze fully on him, mismatched eyes wide and unyielding in what her thoughts were for the longest time. It very nearly bordered on uncomfortable and awkward for a few lingering split seconds before she yanked him into a crushing embrace. It nearly knocked the wind out of him, but he was quick to return the hug.

“You’re such a cheesy walking cliché, you know that?” She muttered into his shoulder as she clutched him a little tighter. He laughed in spite of the slight discomfort she was causing. She seemed to belatedly realize this and wordlessly eased her grip on him.

“Do you like it? I know it’s not perfect but I—”

“You idiot, of course I do!” She pulled away to hold him at arm’s length, her brow furrowed, a watery smile painted on her face. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” he reminded her. The corner of her lips tugged upwards as she looked at the length of sash and its mismatched repaired pattern in her hand.

“I don’t know why…but this was important to me. I know I’ve had it for a long time, I just…” She stopped, her words petering out. “Thank you. You did a great job fixing this.”

Ash flashed him another wane smile, then pulled away from him, reluctantly written plainly on her face before she wove the sash around her waist and hips. She tied it off and let the rest of the length hang off the side with a wistful smile on her face.

“I think it looks better like this.” She paused, her smile falling as she looked at him again with curiousity. “What did you use to fix it with? This material’s a bit thicker than my sash. It feels…tougher.”

“Does it matter?” He countered, and she stared at him in surprise when he winked at her. “You have a few other presents. Go on. Open them.”

She hesitated, her earlier jubilance fading fairly quickly. “You didn’t just choose today at random.”

“No,” he agreed, picking up another parcel and offering it to her. “I suppose I’m just following an old family tradition.”

“We met six years ago today.”

His smile softened.

“Happy Birthday, Ash.” ** _  
_**


	38. You and Me

**You and Me**

It was warm and bright and she was oh-so-cozy, she simply did _not_ want to get up, even if the sunlight was trying its hardest to pry her eyes open with its intensity.

Wait.

That couldn’t be right.

Her room was deep in the cavernous gullet of a mountain. There was no sunlight to be had in her chamber, let alone any of the others for that matter. She peeped open an eye, blinking blearily around, just as something warm scuttled gently across her shoulder and arm. Ash sighed deeply with a groan, sat up and—

She froze.

This wasn’t her room. This wasn’t her home. This wasn’t Yamatai.

It was a bedroom. An actual, physical bedroom. Inside a house or an apartment. Or so she assumed. She was still processing the fact that she was in a bed, with fresh clean sheets, ones that didn’t smell like they’ve been in a cave for several decades, nor did any of the surrounding furniture seem to have endured the same decades-old treatment of wear and tear—

“For someone who strains herself to the point of exhaustion, you certainly sleep like the dead at times.”

Ash’s blood ran cold as ice at the voice. She whirled, belated realizing she wasn’t alone and found herself staring at…at Allen.

 _But he’s gone,_ she thought with a lump growing in her throat. _I sent him away, he’s gone, this can’t be right—_

His smile faltered and he reached to cup her face and it felt so warm, so real, she was almost fooled in believing he was actually there.

“What—what the hell is this?”

His smile fell away completely, his silvery-grey eyes searching her face. “What do you mean?”

“You’re dead. You died, I tried—I tried to help you, but I don’t—I don’t know—”

Allen frowned, head tilting, concern building up slowly across his face. His other hand sought hers and held on tight, especially when she jerked away on reflex.

“Ash, breathe. We’re not on Yamatai anymore. Himiko is dead, for good. We escaped.” He managed another smile and leaned closer, as though he was about to tell her a secret. “We’re in a villa in Italy right now, in case you forgot. We’ve been here for a few weeks, in fact.”

His hand squeezed hers reassuringly and the tension knotted along her shoulders and back eased as she swept her gaze around them. It looked well used and lived in, and there, by the wooden bureau, there were two well-worn traveling packs. From the plaster walls painted in warm earthy tones to the wooden shutters along the windows and the great stone fireplace, it felt right with what he said and yet…

Doubt was a treacherous little creature and it wormed its way into her mind, refusing to release its deadly little claws from her thoughts as it hissed away in her ears.

She gripped at the sheets and the comforter beneath her hands, felt the softness of the material and could smell the freshness of the detergent and Allen…

She met his expectant gaze, his quiet smile, his patience with a hesitant smile of her own.

“Bad dreams?” He inquired gently and she nodded.

“I guess so,” she said quietly replied, tracing her eyes over his features. She leaned closer toward Allen, but halted when her center of gravity shifted so dramatically, she flopped over on her side instead. He laughed and helped her up, a hand to her back and the other on her belly.

Her very distended and pregnant belly.

She gaped in disbelief.

“Easy, Ash, you don’t want to stress yourself too much. You’re due any day now.”

“I…wait, what?”

He chuckled and her breathe hitched tightly in her chest when he rubbed his hand gently over her belly.

“You’re nine months along, Ash. We would have kept traveling, but the doctors said you can’t keep doing that, so we decided to settle for a little until the baby was born. Don’t you remember?”

“I…I don’t…understand, I…”

She stared helplessly between Allen and her belly.

_This isn’t what happened, this is…wrong, it’s wrong. This can’t be right, the werewolves came and I had to send him away—this can’t be right—_

Her frantic thoughts came to a grinding halt at a hand along her cheek again, and it calmed her down, chased away her worries…

“Ash…it’s okay. Listen to me. You’re okay.”

She had to force a breath past the lump that was once again taking up residence in her throat. The nightmare that had been most of her life on Yamatai seemed like a distant dream, it was fading so quickly now. He scooted closer and pulled her into a warm embrace. She shuddered pleasantly and closed her eyes, reveling in the invasion of his scent, his warmth, his presence.

“You and me, we’re okay, Ash. We made it. I promise.”

_A bad dream, that’s all it was, it was just a bad dream…_

Her eyes snapped open and she blinked several times when Allen began to cough and his hold on her grew slack. Her concern came back tenfold when he suddenly slumped heavily against her, his breathing laboured.

“Allen? Are you okay?”

The light in the room snuffed out the moment she pulled away and something wet and hot to the touch with a sharp metallic stench was spreading across her front. Panic began to grip her tight and refused to let go as she pulled Allen away at arm’s length. She froze almost as soon as she had him at arm’s length and saw his ashen grey complexion, the blood staining his lips and his front, the glazed look in his eyes. His lips moved, but no noise issued out. A few tears leaked from his eyes.

“Allen!”

They were no longer in the rustic villa in Italy. There was no warm sunshine, there was no comfy bed, there was no great stone fireplace. It was cold and unwelcoming and she actually shivered, feeling it worm its way down deep into her bones.

They were surrounded by lacquered pillars with peeling crimson paint, faded hardwood floors, tallow candles burning dimly and the stink of blood was heavy in the air. It was Himiko’s throne room, she would recognize it anywhere. Glowing eyes in the dark filled with hate were encroaching upon them while gleaming fangs caught glints of light from the candles as they pressed in from all sides.

 _Don’t not again I can’t do this again stop it just stop it don’t hurt him just_ stop _—_

The werewolves charged. She grabbed Allen and held him tight, tried not to gag at the alarming amount of blood she could feel soaking her through, how much she could smell.

“Hold your breath and close your eyes,” was all she managed to say before everything around them exploded in scorching heat and blinding light, howls of rage deafening to her ears.

When the fires died and all sound ceased, she opened her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. It was still cold, she realized. Her arms were empty, her belly flat, she was alone in the throne room and all she had left to hold onto were fistfuls of ash and dust.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She awoke drenched in a cold sweat, shaking uncontrollably, her throat raw and sore, her eyes hot and itchy and leaking with tears. Every breath she drew made her retch. Every retch made every breath a struggle, but she forced each of them down until her hands stopped shaking, until she could stop crying, until the wretched feeling of absolute powerlessness had faded, but not really. It would never truly fade.

Even when she kept telling herself, _it was just a dream, it wasn’t real_ , it did little to console her, because she knew it wasn’t really just a dream. Even when she reached for the faded, threadbare remnant of her sash, mismatched and patchwork-repaired with bits of her and bits of him, it wasn’t enough to soothe her. Even when she touched the gold coin dangling at her throat, to remind herself that she still had it, she felt no calm in her restless mind at all.

When she was awake, she could toil away to the bone and lose herself in whatever menial and tedious task she was working on. But when she was asleep, those prickly memories were there, lurking, waiting to spring up, waiting to strike and make her feel like shit all over again. Even if it was a dream, it was still a trap designed to ensnare her, to hurt her, to remind her of what a complete and utter fuckup she was, of what a hopeless case that she was, of how useless she had been. Every reminder of what had happened was like a thorn in her heart and her lungs, making every beat torture and every breath agony.

Even years, decades, millennia later she felt the guilt and self-hatred clawing away at her insides without mercy as reminders of her failure. Even with all this time that has passed, he was the first constant in her memory. She could still remember with perfect, damning clarity the night she’d lost him. The night she’d sent him away, most likely to his death. If he had lived, he would have come back. He would have.

She was a failure, a broken mess that had fooled herself into believing that was worth fixing. She had let _him_ fool her into believing that there was something in her _worth_ fixing, and that all the pieces were there, they only needed to be put back together.

She was so very tired of fooling herself.

 _Stupid,_ she thought to herself. _Stupid of you to think that a_ monster _could actually have a happy ending. Stupid of you to think you could actually leave this fucking place. Stupid of you to give yourself away to someone and not keep anything left for yourself and now look at you. Stupid, stupid,_ stupid!

Ash stumbled out of her room, passing by relics and artefacts and things she once cared about, but the years have worn her away. She barely paid it all any mind, until her pawed foot struck a bottle lying on the ground. Liquid sloshed about inside and she paused as it rolled a few feet away from her before coming to an abrupt halt. She followed it and picked it up, weighing it. It was nearly full. She popped the cork and took a long draft from it, the familiar scalding bitterness of moonshine hitting her tongue in waves before slithering down to settle warmly in her belly.

No matter how much she drank, it was never enough to send her into blissful ignorance, to make her forget. It couldn’t do the job, no matter how much alcohol there was. She might as well drink water, for all the good it did her.

Ash continued on her trek, skittering past broken skulls and smashed bones and brittle dead flower petals that she had no heart left in her to clean up. She hasn’t seen another soul wash up on Yamatai in decades. Why bother in keeping her home clean when it no longer felt like a home and more like a tomb?

She collapsed against the wall, beneath the array of skulls that hung above her head, and next to the massive skull that once belong to her beloved Báthory. She sat there in silence for a time, finishing off the bottle of moonshine and when it was done, she rolled it away without ceremony. It clanked against several other bottles lying haplessly on the ground, some empty and others not. Ash had half a mind to get up and grab another bottle, but her limbs were lead weights and she wasn’t ready to move again. Instead she leaned against Báthory’s skull. She could still smell the stench of her living flesh being cooked. Or was it just her mind playing tricks on her again?

 _I’m never going to leave this island,_ she told herself and she believed it, because it was true. _I’ll waste away on this godforsaken shithole, just like the rest of them. This place is nothing_ but _a tomb. At the very least I can choose where I’ll draw my final breath. It’s the one last “fuck you” I can send to Himiko when I finally die._

Ash finally managed to gather enough strength to roll herself to her feet, but only long enough to locate another full bottle of moonshine. Then she was back to leaning against Báthory’s quiet and empty skull. She raised the bottle in a mocking salute to the darkness, ignoring the way her vision blurred, how wet her cheeks were becoming, or how cracked and broken her voice sounded.

It made no difference to her. Not anymore.

“You and me, Himiko. It’s just you and me left. _Salud_ , you fucking bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There’s a lot I wish I could say, but I can’t because spoilers, except…
> 
> Ash is broken and it’s not the ‘I can’t live without so-and-so’ kind of broken, she doesn’t function like that. It’s more along the lines of the crushing agony of failure and the heaping pile of self-loathing that’s been bottled up and repackaged as that nasty concoction called survivor’s guilt. She is caustic and bitter and angry, and above all, she’s fucking tired.
> 
> Years of living in isolation and convincing herself that everything bad that’s ever happened to her is her fault and hers alone tends to skew perspective, and frankly, she’s about two steps away from biting a silver bullet.
> 
> Ash isn’t a happy person and she won’t be for a long time. It was like that for a long time, even before Allen arrived, and it's only inflated since his untimely departure.
> 
> Also, I saw this prompt and decided that I should share in the pain: "Imagine your OTP sleeping together. Person A wakes up and reaches over to snuggle closer to Person B. The bed is cold and empty and as Person A sits up, they remember that Person B has been dead…last night had been a dream. Person A then begins to cry."


	39. Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: At the curious inquiry of someone in the reviews on my fanfic.net account, I decided to showcase a small glimpse of how Allen is doing post-Yamatai. It's not that good, but it's not that bad either. If you want to compare notes, that is. Although it can be tricky to accomplish at this time, this is the closest idea I had on hand that would not spoil events for _Crash_. 
> 
> On another note, art has slowly filled up the pages of crashed-into-you tumblr, as well as several more pages that showcase information about Crash, as well as more bookmarks for the raptor pack! Feel free to stop by, browse, pop in the ask box to ask questions! :D

**Memory**

“She loses her memory—that’s the closest equivalent we could call it at this point, I suppose—between the seventy-five and one-hundred years marker.”

“How long is that for us?”

The Doctor sucked in a breath between clenched teeth, his thin shoulders drawn tight, his narrow back tight and straight. After what seemed like an eternity, he released a reluctant breathe, long and tired and burdensome as he answered with regret in his voice, “Roughly thirty days. Give or take a day or three.”

Allen tightened a fist at his side, tried to relax it, failed. His knuckles cracked as a result. The Doctor feigned not to notice.

Today was a beautiful day, Allen dimly noted. The sky was a bright hot blue, without a cloud in sight to mar the scenery. The sun was shining, warm and blinding as it struck the distant sea, turning it into a dazzling spectacle of winking silver. All types of fishing vessels scooted across the bay in the distance. Dragons were flitting about everywhere in the air, scuttling across rooftops, or slinking about on the ground, whether or not they had riders atop them. Children played, adults worked. Life went on.

It didn’t feel right to Allen. He felt it should have been a dreary overcast day. It would have been a better fit, considering the mood of things.

Roughly thirty days.

That’s all it took for her to forget just about everything that’s happened to her within the last hundred years for her on Yamatai and then she was back to square one again. It’s already happened to her several times over: Wondering who she was, who she might have known or loved or met. She was back to knowing only savagery and violence and bloodshed without an inkling of a clue as to why that was, not knowing that there was another way to live.

The Doctor cut through his thoughts, derailing his brooding.

“The Twins are getting more supplies for us. It takes a while, to get things shifted around without looking suspicious so we can send her another boat. It’s not much, especially in the face of current issues, but until we get the barrier down, it’s all we can do. It gives her hope.” The Doctor paused, turning his attention to the Deadly Nadder that had crossed their paths in the street and was now vying for his attention. He smiled, but it was a little wistful, a little sad, a little distant as he complied in patting the dragon on its horned snout.

“We’ve narrowed down a list of places that might have the master control over Yamatai’s barrier. I’ll have to leave for a little, to help investigate, but in the meantime, please try not to go back. I mean it, Allen. You can’t keep rushing off, blasting away at the barrier with Whiplash. Chimera Dynamics might take it as a threat more seriously one of these days and haul you both away. I don’t want to have to see that happen.”

“I know. I _know_ all of that, Doctor, but I just…”

He felt helpless, useless, worse even. He had access to the Ark again. He didn’t know how or why—the Doctor had a number of theories, and he was whole-heartedly impressed and delighted with the entirety of its design and said it almost akin to something he called a TARDIS—but he’s tried more than once to get to Yamatai through it. He made the gate and…and nothing. It wouldn’t go through. It wouldn’t open a doorway to Yamatai. He felt like a failure.

It has been well over thirty days for them, and it has more definitely been over a hundred years for her. He’s been on King’s Rock Isle for nearly three month now.

“She’s already forgotten all about me then, hasn’t she? Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve done—she’s forgotten.”

The Doctor gave him a pitying look and a sad smile.

“Allen…I don’t think she has. You’ve made such an impression, you might be the only person, the only memory she wants to willingly cling to, more than anyone else she’s met during her time so far on Yamatai. You...might be the only exception.”

A part of Allen wanted to believe that. But after seven years with Ash, perhaps some of her skepticism has rubbed off on him. There was a lingering doubt tainting his belief and he was afraid that, as much as he wanted to hold onto that hope, a small part of him couldn’t quite get on board with it.

“I want to trust that, Doctor. At some point, I think I would have, and I would have clung to that hope, but…” Allen shook his head, ignoring the quiet, pitying look the Doctor was giving him in that moment. “I don’t know if she will. She’s forgotten other important people in her life. Her family, her friends…I don’t want to believe it, but I think in time she’ll forget me, too.”

It made him sick and heartbroken to even admit it, but it was the truth with how he felt. He couldn’t fool himself into believing it, not completely. Ash probably would have called him stupid if he tried to believe otherwise.

He almost flinched when the Doctor laid a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He glanced at the tall, gangly man with the tousled wild hair and a glimmer of optimism that made his dark eyes bright and they simply _smoldered_. Allen taken aback by the fierceness in the man’s gaze.

“Don’t you _dare_ say that, Allen. Don’t you ever lose hope, because if you lose hope in her, then that’s it. It’ll be game over for her. Even if it’s barely there, you cling to that hope and don’t let go of it. Keep holding onto it for her, you keep fighting in any way possible. If there is one person who believes she can make it and still hold onto one thing—just one thing—it’s you. I know it. She knows this. So don’t let her down by giving that up.”

Allen stared at the Doctor, speechless. He struggled to grasp for a response, but there was only an irritating emptiness rattling about in his skull when he tried. The Doctor’s fierce gaze softened just as quickly as it had formed and he offered Allen another smile.

“Besides, I’m starting to think that if anyone can make her remember anything, even if she has forgotten one thing or another…you’re more than ready to remind her of who she is.”

“But I don’t know anything about her, Doctor. I don’t know who she was before Yamatai. I have the file you gave me, yes, but that isn’t enough.”

The Doctor frowned at him, looking rather like a disappointed teacher staring down at a star pupil who just said something rather stupid.

“You certainly have a better idea of who she is down in her core than most anyone around her does, with a few minor exceptions. You spent seven years with her. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that what matters?”

He kept Allen pinned under his heated gaze, waiting for him to rebuke. The fact of the matter was, Allen had nothing. He was immediately struck with the alarming resemblance of passion the Doctor was conferring to him, the same likes that he’s seen displayed with Ash. They were truly very similar, whether the Doctor would admit to it or not.

And then just like that, the Doctor flipped the script on him again, beaming brightly as though they had not just had a rather serious moment pass between the two of them.

“Don’t lose hope, Allen. You’re good at that, keeping it alive. You’re the one that helped her see that. You _gave_ her hope when she was almost ready to give it up for good. In a way…you saved her.”

The Deadly Nadder squawked in dismay when the Doctor stopped patting it, and when it failed to regain the man’s attention, it took off, buffeting them with shrieks and wingbeats. The Doctor turned to watch with a laugh, leaving Allen to stew on what had just transpired.

He wasn’t going to dismiss what the Doctor had said, of course. He was right. Three months of no results was nothing in comparison to the seven years they’d spent together. To the hundreds of years she’s had to endure. The very least he could do was to not give up so easily and so quickly. He was just one of many who needed to remind her of who she was, how important she was, and to help her recover.

If the waiting was difficult, he almost didn’t want to imagine the recovery process for when she came back.

He imagined that there would simply be too many people at once for her to handle. She’d need an anchor to keep her steady and from becoming adrift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Notes: The Doctor is the master at pep talks. He really is. I’m gonna have a lot of fun introducing him into _Crash_. And as a reminder, even someone like Allen gets down sometimes. He’s had his moments throughout the manga.


	40. Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: More art has posted to the blog, including an older Allen!

**Gold**

“Coins?”

Allen could feel Ash’s eyes watching him, quiet and shining with mirth. She said nothing as he put aside the little flimsy wrapping and held up the two gold coins tied together on a length of cord in his hands now.

The coins were old, very old if he were to judge, and there were square-shaped holes in their centers. He could just barely make out the etchings of Japanese kanji on them. Or were those markings Chinese characters? Allen squinted, frowning, but eventually gave up. The designs were so faded with time, he gathered he’d never know for sure. Coins between the nations were so similar between the eras, he’d probably have to take it to an expert to gain any insight on its history.

The coins were made of pure gold, that much he could tell right off the bat. They were heavy and tied together with a strip of leather cord. He lifted the leather cord up and the coins dangled on the end, just barely touching.

Allen glanced at Ash again, saw the knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“I’m…not sure what this means. Are we using money on the island now or…?”

“You can be really dense sometimes. It’s kinda funny.”

He gave her a sour look and she only beamed wider at him. She scooted closer to him on the couch and took the leather cord from his hands and gave it a short jerk. The coins swung away from each other, then back inwards. The untied bottom ends of the coins gently clinked against one another. She did it a few more times, still smiling, still waiting for him to figure it out.

“You made me a toy,” he ventured another guess and she rolled her mismatched eyes.

“A location system, actually.”

“Really?”

He was very skeptical. She kept that patient smile plastered on her face.

“No matter how hard I jangle this thing, the coins aren’t very loud when they clack against one another. Not to you, anyway.” She motioned to her ears. “But to me, I can hear it, and it’s very loud and clear. I know you’ve gotten better with navigating this place, but you’re still…eh…”

She wobbled her other hand, her lips pulling into another crooking smile before continuing.

“This is a way for me to help locate you, in case we got separated. The Solarii and the Oni won’t hear it, and most dinosaurs won’t either…”

“Yet you will.” Allen completed with another glance at her ears as they twitched. Slowly but surely, he felt a smile of his own coming to him. A part of him was miffed, admittedly, that she practically was giving him a collared bell like a house cat wore to keep track of him, and yet…

And yet at the same time it was a thoughtful, if strange, gift.

He wouldn’t be the first one to deny he wasn’t the greatest at navigation. In fact, he’d be the first lining up to say it was the opposite. He was a master at getting lost if he didn’t pay attention to where he was going. This was especially true if he ever lost track of Ash. He’s already done so several dozen times in the past several years and each time that happened, she or one of the raptors or rexes would have to come find him.

It was…slightly embarrassing, to say the least.

The one comfort he had was knowing they wouldn’t abandon him so readily.

Ash offered him the coins again, holding them by the leather strip that lashed them together. He took it, examining the coins again with quiet appreciation. The walkie-talkies weren’t infallible and more often enough, their channels crossed with the Solarii’s. Using them is always a risk.

Allen saw the merit in a system that only he and Ash had complete control over. A quiet and simple system that no one else was using. Ash’s lips curled into another crooked grin, but it was her eyes that said more than any words she might have spoken. His eyes strayed to the coin at her throat, the one he’d given her not all that long ago and even if it was as faded as the ones he had, he could see she took the time to keep it clean and the leather cord well-oiled.

He smiled warmly at her in return.

“Thank you. I appreciate this, really.”

Ash continued to surprise him. It wasn’t even his birthday.


	41. Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: This was something I actually had planned out for a while now, when I was loosely outlining the years Ash/Lupin has been on Yamatai before the events of Left Behind. I also felt that Allen would be curious about some things she’s mentioned in passing to him, things she remembered at the time Allen had been around. This was one of them. I’m only just getting to it now. It’s exposition at this point, it’s not really plot-relevant, but I thought I’d share all the same.

**Burning**

“Doctor…I have to ask you something. About Ash. Lupin, I mean.”

It was difficult adjusting to the other name. To Allen, Ash would always be Ash. He knew who Ash was. Lupin was still a stranger to him, a woman with a past he has only allowed himself to glimpse at. Ash didn’t have that, she was a woman with no past as far as he was concerned. He wanted, when the time came when she was off the island and remembered who she was and what her past had been as Lupin, for her to tell him. The Doctor found this charmingly amusing and often quoted it as ‘spoilers’. 

They were in the library in Ash’s old home. The shelves weren’t all full here, but they were close enough to it. He knew Ash had been an avid reader on Yamatai, and would snatch up any book she deemed fit and still in relatively good condition to read.

It seems the woman she was before the island was much the same. That was a relief to know. It was _familiar_. Allen himself couldn’t bring himself to sit still and focus on letters on a page, not unless it had been a mission dossier when he had worked at the Order. Ash was a restless being herself, but when it came to reading…she could sit still for hours without stirring at all. It was the only time she did that, aside from hunting.

The Doctor considered him briefly, looking up sharply from the text he was reading. He had his glasses on, but when Allen called to him, he hurriedly tucked them away and stood, leaving the book at the desk.

“What kind of questions do you have?”

The Doctor had the same agitated energy Ash often had. Perhaps not identical, but similar enough. Allen found he liked that about the Doctor. He was ready at all times, if a little scatterbrained when on a tangent and yet at the same time…focused with a purpose. He was armed with knowledge, and if he didn’t know something, he was quick to resolve that issue.

The subject he wanted to broach however…he just hoped the Doctor knew about. It was something that has always sat at the back of his mind, lurking, unanswered, and nagging for answers. Yet he knew the one person who might have had answers, she couldn’t fully remember the details herself. Ash was a good person, this he has seen and witnessed and knew. She wasn’t always nice, even if she meant well, and yet…

Allen considered his question with more scrutiny.

Did he really want to know from another source, other than Ash herself?

He had debated over this for quite some time, and found that he had to at least know this one thing. Just this once, he wanted the spoilers in details. He was afraid that, when Ash was retrieved from Yamatai, and when her memories were recovered…she might remember and not tell him.

“For us, when we were on Yamatai, Ash once told me she—” he stopped himself for a split second, then steeled himself. “She told me she burned the entire island. Without remorse. Without caring about who or what she burned and I…I have to know. Is it true? Did any of you know about this? Or was this some nightmare she conjured up in her mind and she thinks it was so real she believed it was?”

The Doctor’s genial expression melted into quiet, solemn seriousness. A dark light passed over his eyes, his smile fell away completely, and a hush fell between them. The Doctor, still standing by the desk, considered the book he had been reading only moments ago. He dropped his gaze to pass over the pages and he lifted his hand to trace a finger over the words written there. The Doctor let out a long suffering, if quiet, sigh.

“It’s complicated, Allen. Yes…yes, I—we—saw what happened. But it wasn’t some decision that came easily to her.”

“She actually did it? She…she burned the island?”

“I’m sorry, Allen. I’m so sorry I have to be the one tell you this, but…yes. Yes, she did.” The Doctor seemed to panic for a split second and snapped his head up, pinning Allen’s gaze with his own and stepped away from the desk, motioning pleadingly to him.

“Now, don’t—don’t jump to conclusions, before you even hear the story, Allen. Please. _Please_ , try to understand…”

“She barely even remembers that. She told me once, she burned down Yamatai because she went insane from living alone for so long—”

“That’s _not_ the reason she did it, Allen. Far from it.” The Doctor snapped and Allen felt quiet in a hurry.

Allen felt a tightness drawing itself across his chest instead of relief. The Doctor grit his teeth, his dark eyes searching Allen’s face. With that look alone, the Doctor was pleading with Allen to _listen_ and to _understand_. Allen wanted to, he truly did. But he wasn’t sure what to make of this new information, in spite knowing that Ash was probably not the most reliable source of knowing much about her own past history. He wanted to believe there was a mistake, a reason behind why she did it. It was something he’s often wanted to know.

“It’s complicated.” The Doctor sucked in a breath, his brows knitting together in a worried fashion as he ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up even more than usual. “I believe you met Joel and Ellie once before, yes?”

Allen hesitated. He recalled the older man and the girl who was not that much older than he had been when he had first came to Yamatai. He nodded.

“I know you’re familiar with the multiverse theory. It’s why so many people from such vastly differing histories and worlds are coming together. Well, Ellie and Joel, they came from a universe where the world has fallen to a disease. It’s called the Cordyceps Brain Infection.”

“I remember that…I’ve never seen it personally, but Ash— _Lupin_ —she had it in her journal.”

“Journal?” The Doctor parroted, interest shining in his eyes.

“Yes. She kept a journal of all the threats she came upon on Yamatai, or remembered by herself. The four stages of that infection were listed in the journal: Runners, Stalkers, Clickers, Bloaters.”

According to Ash’s journal, she especially hated Clickers. So much so that most of the paragraph describing Clickers had been expletives, but none stood out so much as “Fuck Them All”.

The Doctor nodded enthusiastically and began to pace, his gait restless as he began speaking again. “Yes, well…Ash—Lupin—either or, she well…she came across Ellie and Joel, got them off the island. The problem was, at the same time the Cordyceps was introduced to Yamatai, another threat was present on the island…” Here the Doctor stopped altogether, and a fearful light graced his features momentarily as he considered Allen again. “Was an alien lifeform called the Xenomorph in her journal?”

Allen could hear the apprehension clear as a bell in the Doctor’s voice, and he found himself nodding.

“Yes. She sketched it out as well…”

He remembered all too well the pictures she had crafted to accompany each journal entry and he thought back to the one for the Xenomorph: A creature with a jet-black carapace, a long tubing for a skull, no eyes present at all, a prehensile tail with a dagger-like protrusion on its end, deadly claws, and a second mouth hidden within its main one. The description about its vitriolic acidic blood accompanying its highly pressurized internal anatomy that made it prone to exploding at any breach in its exoskeleton, hyper intelligent hunting patterns, and incredibly volatile and disgusting life cycle only added to the nightmares it could fuel.

Recalling its entry, and judging the grave expression on the Doctor’s face, Allen immediately discerned it was not a creature to trifle with. Once upon a time, all those entries had seemed fantastical and surreal to him, especially when he had first glimpsed it. It was as though there was no possible way any of the creatures within its pages could ever exist, the only exception being that of werewolves for obvious reasons.

He was suddenly glad to have not come face-to-face with any of the others during his time on Yamatai.

“When we glimpsed in around that timeframe…it wasn’t pretty, Allen. Life on Yamatai is ugly enough, but that timeframe was one of the ugliest. Imagine a fungal infection that takes over your body within a few hours to a day, killing off who you used to be completely and your body is nothing but a host to a monstrous infection—a highly volatile one that forces your body to brutally attack and cannibalize other people.”

Allen felt his stomach twist as though a knife had been plunged in it. The Doctor hadn’t a clue how close he was on point with the message he was trying to convey. How poignant he was and didn’t even realize that Allen had something like that inside his head already. It hit too close to home, making him feel sick. He’s read through the journal entries, several times over the years, and yet they had somehow felt cold and detached one way or another. Some entries had a bit more passion with personalized touches splashed across the pages. Yet Ash had been clinical in her observations to the point that it almost didn’t feel like it was her experiencing those periods and it had been someone else entirely.

“I can imagine it just fine—I’ve read the entries. Ash had the experience and wrote them down,” he finally admitted, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth and his throat going dry. The Doctor kept him pinned under a heated gaze.

“Then _think about it_ , Allen, because I don’t think you are. The spores thrived in dark, damp environments and what did Yamatai have plenty of? Caves. Rivers. Rain. Dark little holes with lots of bodies to fester inside, to grow, to release spores into the air to be breathed in by anything that happened to wander by. The same thing for a Xenomorph nest—they would steal live humans for their parasitic young. And their breeding cycle is terrifying fast.”

Only a few hours’ time. The eggs would hatch and from them would emerge the larval stage, a disgusting little many-legged creature that was called a ‘facehugger’. Allen recalled the sketch with damning clarity, as well as the written information with how it forced its payload into an unwilling living host, where it would incubate, then violently burst out of its victim’s chest cavity. It effectively killed the host in an agonizingly painful manner while spewing out the creature that would eventually grow into its deadly adult stage.

“Imagine half of the island’s inhabitants being infected by the Cordyceps and the other being culled as either food or breeding fodder for the Xenomorphs. And Allen—the Xenomorphs don’t just use human hosts. They used _any_ living host they could get into to breed.”

Allen hadn’t considered that. He didn’t remember reading that in the journal. Had Ash forgotten to include that detail?

…no. No, she wouldn’t forget something so horrible yet disturbingly important…would she?

The Doctor continued to watch him in that grave manner. Allen wasn’t used to seeing that expression on his face, not for an extended period of time. This was the longest he’s seen the Doctor look like this. He felt as though the knife was twisting, deeper and deeper still, driving home a sickly sensation that was spreading all over.

“Half of the island as breeding fodder. The other as infected by a deadly contagion. Ash barely got Ellie and Joel off that island alive and about as well as one can, after they’ve seen the nightmare that became Yamatai at that point in its already dark history.”

Allen was beginning to regret asking. He could already guess where this was going. He wasn’t sure if he liked this version better or the half-remembered truth Ash had told him. Either way, it didn’t bode well in the end.

“If the Xenomorphs had gotten off of Yamatai, this planet would have been doomed. If the Cordyceps somehow made it off the island, in the form of a future survivor in any way, if it had gotten out here—either way, nobody wins. They both have incredibly short incubation periods, but they’re both just long enough to risk exposure to the world. I wouldn’t have been able to stop it. And that terrified me when I wasn’t sure she’d even succeed.”

“So she burned Yamatai completely and utterly to prevent either of them from getting off.”

The Doctor gave a sort of grim nod.

“She burned Yamatai to prevent the rest of the world from dying. Most, if not all the occupants, human or otherwise, on the island…they were already dead.”

Allen’s throat pinched tightly together, painful and grating like sandpaper. In spite of the relief at knowing, it didn’t make him feel any better.

“She saved the world,” he concluded, trying to swallow his bittersweet recognition in her actions. She’s kept horrid things from stretching out across the globe, yes, but at the cost of her freedom. She was still trapped on Yamatai, regardless of whatever good deeds she’s committed. Her actions weren’t rewarded justly in any way whatsoever. Not even close.

The Doctor smiled wryly. “It’s what I would have done.”

“Did she have to kill everyone first? Before she did it.”

He blurted the question without thinking, and even with the words ringing in the air, he still couldn’t quite believe he had asked it out loud. The Doctor regarded him and pity welled up behind his dark eyes, reluctance painting his frame together. Gently, the Doctor removed the long tubular metal object he called a Sonic Screwdriver from his coat pockets and began to fiddle with it. He claimed it was a device that could open just about any lock, disrupt firearm functions, and a number of other things—although it couldn’t do anything to wood, ironically. He continued to toy with the screwdriver for a moment, before forcibly stilling his agitated movements.

“Everything that was still alive was already infected, Allen. Either as a host for a Xenomorph, or as an incubator for the Cordyceps infection. Even…even the raptors. The rexes. The herds. Everything was affected in some form. The fungal infection was bad enough on its own, but these creatures…these aliens would have destroyed everything. She made a choice. An incredibly difficult one, one that I’m not sure a lot of people would have been able to stomach considering it, let alone follow through on their own…but she made the choice all the same because she had to. Because no one else could. She was alone when she had to.”

 _And she chose to burn it all._ The words were left hanging in the air between the two of them, unspoken, but they were still there.

Allen knew she had done the deed. She had admitted it as much. She thought she had gone insane from the isolation, and perhaps…perhaps a part of her believed that and it was true to an extent.

Alone. She _always_ _alone_ when these decisions had to be made, it seemed like. He absolutely _hated_ hearing about how alone she always was on that godforsaken island. Nothing good ever came to be with her being alone out there.

Absolutely _nothing_.

Perhaps time had even muddled the reasoning behind it all and that might have been a blessing in disguise. To know in agonizing and damning clarity the true horror of why the island was falling to such malicious and malignant forces that threatened the world beyond would cause anyone nightmares. To know that even her beloved pack and the rexes had all fallen, to know that she was the only living thing left alive—unaffected and uninfected—he couldn’t blame her for falling back on that imagined lie she most likely made for herself, to cope with the decision she had to made.

She might still remember, deep down, in the form of nightmares that still plague her, reminding her of her costly decision. Nightmares she had lived once before and had to relive in her sleep, nightmares she forgot about once she woke.

“She burned it all,” he said once more. “She burned the island, but not for the reasons she thought she did.”

“If it makes you feel any better, the answer to your question is no…no, she didn’t truly kill anyone before she went through with it. Most of the inhabitants—animal or human—were infected. Whether it was with a Xenomorph or the infection…they were already dead, one way or another. It was mercy she granted them all, even if it meant cleansing the island completely in fire.”

There was a pained acknowledgement and a kind of grim admiration in the Doctor’s words and once more, Allen had to read the hidden message spelled out so plainly, even if it wasn’t spoken aloud.

Ash did what she had to do, regardless of the outcome. She did the right thing, even if it looked wrong from the outside in.

A mass mercy killing, indeed.

He only hoped when she could finally leave the island and when her memories returned, she could remember the real reasons she did so many things she’s since forgotten, and not feel the guilt in her decisions. There shouldn’t be any reason she should have to live with the guilt at all. She hadn’t burned everything purely out of spite, or insanity, or both. She destroyed Yamatai to save it. She had done the right thing. That’s all she wanted to do, when it came to the bottom line. She shouldn’t have to live with a guilt that never should exist in the first place.


	42. Give Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This had taken me…quite some time. I mostly had a series of snippets in my head, and this originally had been a different snippet altogether. However, this theme sort of called out to me as something to expand upon, and this monstrosity was the result. It’s the longest snippet drabble of Dying Light to date, and for good reason.
> 
> There’s very little on Ash that’s seen from her perspective in Left Behind and Dying Light respectively. I thought a bit of insight would be enlightening. I’m sure the ending twist will be a nice one, though.
> 
> There’s quite a lot more that’s happened on the island, of course—but I’ve only take the liberty of mentioning snippets that’s been mentioned already, or things that won’t affect the events of Left Behind or Crash all that much, if at all. Things that will won’t be mentioned yet for obvious spoiler-free reasons.

**Give Up**

It was her first night on the island.

The storm wasn’t letting up. The rain lashed out without mercy; the wind howled without end; the sea roared in the distance and could be heard even from about a mile inland; the ground itself seemed to hinder all control of moving forward. She had to keep going, though. She had to find someone, anyone. There were signs of them living here; ruins of buildings and old vehicles left rotting strewn about, but there were also signs of current inhabitants. Candles, paintings, weaponry.

She had a primitive and crudely made bow in hand now, scavenged from her slow trek through the treacherous landscape that made up this island.

Valka had been teaching her a bit, but their lessons had been cut short—mostly because of her. She felt like a failure. She couldn’t protect the Doctor. She couldn’t do the one thing she had promised herself to do, the one thing those Chimera Dynamics assholes had hired her to do even. Was she supposed to be a guardian or not? She somehow felt it had been a joke of a job, something hastily erected into place for her, a consolation in lieu of…whatever they really had in mind for her.

She felt sick just thinking about it. About _everything_. About her decision to abandon everyone, to flee, to disappear from everyone’s radars. She hadn’t even thought about going back home to California. She had just wanted to get away from it all.

The shame of her failure had filled her up, building and festering inside for weeks until it had finally boiled over. She had told herself that she needed to leave, as soon as she was well enough to travel. That everyone would be better off without her, that they’d be _safer_ without her, an outsider, running around amongst them. She had never felt at home there, anyway. The displaced inhabitants of Berk-but-not-Berk wouldn’t miss her. Most of them, they barely tolerated her.

She could see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices, smell it on them as soon as she walked into a room and they laid sight on her. Everything about them changed when she was around. Like she was an intolerable insect in their eyes that they’d very much like to squish.

She was tired of the unspoken ridicule. _Just fucking say it. Say that you hate me, that you blame me for everything, that it’s all my fucking fault! But for Christ’s sake…just stop fucking staring at me…_

They didn’t need her anymore. In fact, she suspected they never had in the first place, and they never would.

_I shouldn’t have left during the storm, though—I was a fucking idiot thinking that had been a good idea._

She hoped Whiplash was all right. That cyclone had hit them both so hard it separated them midair, tore her straight from the saddle. Night Furies could swim, she knew that much. She hoped he had made his way to the island all the same, even if she hadn’t seen him, had waited for him. At the same time…she hoped he had gotten away, somehow, someway. It would have been better for the both of them, even if it felt like she had ripped out a part of herself to leave a gaping hole in its place. She kept telling herself it was for the best, that Whiplash would find someone better, that he would connect with a better person, a better rider…

She shook the thoughts from her head, swallowing down the urge to cry, and tried to stamp out the wallowing emotion welling up inside. _Suck it up, Marine_ , she told herself. _Suck it up and get the mission done._

She was sheltered in the ruins of what she believed to be an old war bunker. The walls and roof were mostly intact, except for the crumbling bits here and there that allowed rain water to come leaking inside. It was thankfully dry enough that she could build a small fire pit inside. It was pointless, for both heat and light. She could see in the darkness just fine, she had all the warmth and then some to spare. It was mostly out of comfort she had it built. It was familiar, as much as she hated to admit it. She turned her focus on the bigger picture to keep her mind busy. She needed to get off the island, first and foremost.

Her ears flicked at the sound of soft, familiar cries of prey-animal and she bolted upright in her seat, listening and staring into the darkness of the night and the forest beyond.

On second thought, perhaps that would be priority two. Priority one was getting some food in her stomach.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She had found the inhabitants of the island.

She was regretting her decision to actively go looking for them.

She was an idiot, for not seeing the signs of crazy sooner. Or maybe she had been so hell-bent on finding other people that she went on ignoring them, pretended they weren’t there. She had only wanted to cling to any hope she could get her hands on.

Now she was plucking and tugging arrows and bits of bullets and shrapnel shards from various surfaces of her body—if she could reach them. She had to improvise with the ones she couldn’t get to.

Those bastards had _shot_ at her—with guns and bows and had even thrown in a few explosives like grenades or dynamite for extra measures! What assholes. She had killed them, as many as she could in self-defense in her warpath to get out, to find a spot to lick her wounds and figure out a plan of attack.

These people were fucking _insane_.

She could see that now, after only the one encounter. They were praying to someone, before she had stumbled upon them and gotten locked into their crosshairs.

She had to know: who in the hell was Himiko and what did they have to do with anything on this island?

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The ruins were more extensive than she had originally thought. It wasn’t just war bunkers and vehicles that littered this place. She could see traces of Japanese ruins—homes and places of worship and the great palace in the distance atop the mountains above the assholes’ shantytown settlement.

The monastery was hidden away in the canyons. It smelled like death. She could smell it from miles away, the stench of blood and rotten corpses and worse. When she drew closer, sneaking in as close as she could, she could immediately see why.

Samurai, strangely enough, but even her eyes could pick out the abnormal details from a great distance: the sickly grey skin wherever it could be seen, the faded and rusted state of the armour…and that godawful stench. It was coming from them. They were undead fucks walking around like they’d forgotten they were supposed to be dead after hundreds or thousands of years and just kept doing their duty.

They guarded the place, that much she could discern. So she snuck in when it was dark, bow in hand, quiver on one hip, knives strapped and sheathed at her thighs, the Hidden Blades she and Connor had made for her, a pistol holstered at the other hip, and a rifle slung over her shoulder. She skulked around the place, quiet as can be, avoiding patrolling guards and taking out those she had no choice but to.

When she made it to the heart of the place, she almost wanted to be surprised to find a tomb. On the walls were painted depictions of a woman. They were strange, almost as though they were depicting a ritual of some sort. The body inside the stone coffin was done up almost like a mummy would have been. It was a female, judging by the kimono and the ornate headpiece.

She must have been an empress or a queen, an incredibly important figurehead of this place when it had once been a thriving community back in its hay days, whenever that had been.

She wondered if this woman was Himiko, and if so, what was it that made the people of this island worship her like a god?

She turned back to the paintings on the walls. There had to be something in them that held the key to it all. She just needed to figure out _what_.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

A pilgrimage, perhaps a religious one.

A burning ritual of some sort.

A woman pouring water into a cup held by another woman.

A queen, perhaps.

What did it all mean…? It was a story. Or maybe steps to something. She planned to figure it out.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

It was a transfer of power. That’s what the paintings showed, but it felt like more. A transfer of…of something more. Something more tangible in essence.

She had spent more time out on the island, gathering all the intelligence she could.

That meant going into the heart of enemy territory. The Solarii, the cultist assholes were called, and their insane leader was named Mathias. They worshipped Himiko and were based out in the old palace grounds, that much she had learned in the last two days.

Another storm had rolled in overnight, and it wasn’t letting up. It helped cover her tracks. She’d been tracking Mathias. She knew he wasn’t aware of it. She was waiting for him to get alone before she struck. She needed more information and skulking about this place was more dangerous than the monastery. The samurai had set patterns and didn’t seem to stray from it. The Solarii strayed. They wandered.

But she was starting to suspect that she could make her move soon. Humans needed sleep more often than she did, after all.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Mathias was a tough nut to crack.

He didn’t make sense.

Not at first.

He went on about Himiko, about her voice guiding him, about the soul-transfer ritual, about her wrath incarnate controlling the very storms around the island. Himiko needed a new body to transfer her soul into. When that happened, her rage would calm, and the storms would subside.

Until then, no one leaves Yamatai.

“If you try to leave before that, you’re a dead woman,” he had said with a bloody smile and a cold light in his eyes before he started laughing behind the pain of twin knives jammed into the sockets of his kneecaps.

The more she gleaned, the more she felt her blood run cold. The more she learned, the less she felt ready to dismiss all that he was saying.

The murals in the monastery were showing the transfer of a soul and the revelation hit her harder than she would have liked to admit.

Himiko was a body-surfer. That’s why she was considered the First and Last Sun Queen. She never truly died.

The storms were unnatural. They were the result of Himiko’s fury made incarnate, her very soul at work with the surrounding island and sea. Himiko’s soul was still within her rotting body within the monastery. It was the result of a botched transfer ceremony.

One of her hand-picked hand maidens wisened the fuck up and did the smart thing, even if it meant ending her own life…

She left to hunt. When she came back, Mathias was half-delirious with blood loss and pain. He asked what she was going to do with him. She was still processing everything, but the one thing she knew she had to do: she had to destroy Himiko’s body. Letting a creature that powerful somehow make it back into the folds of the world would spell disaster.

Before she left, she put an arrow in Mathias’s skull.

She wasn’t taking any chances of him escaping or being rescued and organizing his Solarii into action.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

It was done.

Himiko’s body was burnt up until nothing but ashes remained.

She burned down the monastery for good measure, after killing the rest of the Oni, as the Solarii and Mathias alike have coined the undead samurai as.

The Big Guy had been an especially big pain in her ass, swinging that giant monstrosity of a mace-club-Morningstar-baseball bat mashup of a weapon at her. She got hit at least three times and the bastard hit _hard_.

Good thing she was an inhuman monster as well and could recover from such devastating wounds.

The smoke from the monastery could be seen from the beach. An old PT boat was docked by some broken down bunkers. The sea was a cold iron grey with the waves frothing at the sand and the rocks and the cliffs and the ruins of other boats and ships. The skies were clear, though. That much was reassuring. She found some tools after scavenging around, fixed up the engine as best she could and got it running again. The chugging of the engine was heaven to her ears.

After hunting one last time, finishing off the meal, and waiting an extra hour—perhaps for a sign of her Night Fury companion, or maybe the other dragon riders but no one came looking—she set out on the PT boat. She felt hope trickling in as the boat chugged along away from Yamatai.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Back.

She was back on this fucking wet rock again.

The storm had come out of nowhere.

A voice rang out from the black clouds, loud as thunder. The waves tossed and turned the old PT boat until it capsized and the undertow and the currents flung her back into the realm of Yamatai’s influence. She hit a good amount of debris and rocks under the water and almost thought she wouldn’t have come back up until she was tossed back onto the beach, hacking and coughing like a drowned cat.

The first place she went to was the monastery.

She descended upon the place with all the fury she had mustered in her and then some.

It nearly deflated when she came back upon an army of undead samurai that she had destroyed not even a day ago. She destroyed them all over again in a hail of bullets, arrows, blood, and fire. She burnt the monastery down all over again, and Himiko along with it.

She was more than surprised when the Solarii came looking, and at their head leading their procession was Mathias, alive and well again. No arrow in his head. No kneecaps popped out of joint. No split lip, missing teeth, smashed nose, broken fingers or shattered feet or pulverized ribs and tenderized innards.

He was standing on his own power, on his own two feet, healthy and whole.

It didn’t make sense.

Nothing was making a lick of goddamned sense, even less than the breaking of barriers between multiple worlds and displaced peoples and places from those worlds ending up here.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She was getting scared now.

She’s been on Yamatai for over a month.

She’s killed Mathias and his Solarii. She’s killed Himiko and her Oni.

She’s fixed up that old PT boat dozens of times, tried riding it out and away from Yamatai.

Every time, she was thrown back up from the ocean after Himiko somehow revived, her rage renewed, and her policy reinstated with her wrath of storms: _No one leaves._

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

It’s been a year.

She’s failed every time to escape this hellhole.

She’s the one who been triggering the reset for Himiko. Nothing else.

Every time she tried, the same results happened. Himiko is dead, for real, she tries to leave on the PT boat or a raft or even if she swims out, nothing works. The storms return. Himiko’s dead body and still-kicking-it soul are all back. Any Solarii or Oni she’s killed are all back.

Everything is as it was before she came to the island.

They even forgot who she was.

All they know about her is that she’s an outsider to be killed.

No one’s come looking for her. Whiplash hasn’t shown up either. Either he was dead, drowned by Himiko’s merciless storms, or he was safe and far away from this place and hopefully…hopefully he had a new rider, someone better than her.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She’d found a sizeable cave up in the cleft of a mountain, in the pine forests above the Shantytown settlement. It was a bit close for her comfort, but all the other places had been influenced, tainted, by the Solarii’s influence. This place, though…this place was surprisingly untouched.

She was tired of moving around from place to place. This was going to be her home.

She’d have to start building defenses. A giant “stay the fuck out” door would probably be a good start.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

A boat beached itself down on the southern end of the island. Other than the small gash in the hull, it was mostly intact. Some water damage. She doubted she could patch it up. Didn’t see the point.

She scavenged everything she could. The food, the clothes, the books, the med kits. Everything that wasn’t nailed down. There were a few translation books in it, too. Great. Now she could understand Russian, Korean, Chinese, and Japanese on top of the other languages she already knew or understood somewhat. The strangest one was the sign language book.

When the fuck was she going to ever use sign language on this fucking rock?

She found some empty sketch books in the piles.

When she brought everything back to her makeshift home, she tried sitting down, drawing up people she had left back home. She had no pictures. This was the next best thing.

Her mother, her father, her older brother, some of her friends and her old platoon mates from the Marines…

She even drew her fucked up drug-addict younger brother, even though she wanted to still punch him in the fucking nose for all the shit she had to put up with him growing up. She still wanted to punch the little asshole, come to think of it.

But when she got to James, her late fiancé, halfway shading his dark face, his kind eyes, his winsome smile, the dangling dreads that framed his face—she stopped as her vision blurred, tears fell on the paper, and stained the drawing. She shoved it all away and locked it up from sight, unable to stomach the heart-wrenching grief. She could barely draw breath, could barely pick herself up for a day or two. It was as though the weight of the world was crushing her and she was just waiting for it to finish the job.

She refused to touch it again, any of them. She buried it under everything, anything she could.

It was better to forget everything. To forget everyone.

They were better off without her, anyway.

Even the dead.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Two fucking years.

She’s refrained from escaping for at least a year now. She killed Himiko, just to have some fucking peace from the constant barrage of storms. There was only so much she could take before being wet and miserable could lose its appeal.

She avoided the Solarii if she could help it, but they didn’t seem to learn about avoiding her even after she’s killed scores of them. The Oni were even less inclined and seemed more hell bent on coming after her.

Killing their queen for realsies probably had something to do with that.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She sometimes jumps off cliffs.

Not because she wanted to die.

It reminded her of the exhilaration of flight. Of flying with Whiplash.

It was the rush she loved, but it would always pale in comparison to the real deal.

She missed her Night Fury companion and grief made her heart ache all over again for days to come.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Ten fucking years.

She was only about two decades away from matching Robinson Crusoe’s record.

On again and off again, she’s rescued survivors shipwrecked on Yamatai. Every time she did, she told herself never again. People were the fucking worst. She’s seen their darker side for much too long, and every time, she breaks that personal promise and helps them out.

Every time, they try to take her along with.

Every time, she declines and shoos them away, telling them to get the fuck out of there while they could.

Every time, they promise to come back for her, or to send rescue teams her way.

Every time, she gives them a tight smile, knowing that it’d never happen.

It never fucking happens.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She was a failure. Nothing but a fucking failure, a screw up, and it was all her fault. That’s all she was, that’s all she’d ever be.

A family got shipwrecked on Yamatai, their boat destroyed beyond repair and sunk beneath the growling waves.

She had failed to keep them safe. Even for her, the assault sprung on them by the Solarii had been too much. The parents died first, quick and painless. The little girl was not so lucky. She tried to fight them off, succeeded, but it was too late.

She sat there holding the five-year-old as she choked on her own blood and died, slow and painful. She had screamed and cried until she had lost her voice, could barely swallow without it hurting and she tasted blood from time to time. She couldn’t even bring herself to eat for weeks after that, let alone sleep when she finally stumbled back home after burying them all.

She just kept seeing their faces in her dreams, cut down in a hailstorm of bullets, and asking her why she couldn’t keep them alive. They were just one of many faces she dreamed of at night, hounding her with the same questions.

Then the Red Beast came to haunt her and all the grief and guilt turned to terror.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Himiko comes back at times, even without her triggering the reset of the island. It’s random and without pattern. She’s tried to decipher whether or not it was, if she’s missed something, but no.

No, there’s nothing there.

There never was and there never would be.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The Solarii were beginning to remember her.

They’ve even given her a nickname.

The Fire Walker.

All the women they’ve tried to burn, they all burned.

All the times they’ve tried to burn her, however…she just walked right through the fire without taking any damage.

Perks of being a mutant freak whose power was pyrokinesis.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Twenty fucking years.

She’s been on this hellhole for twenty fucking years.

Everyone she knew back on Berk-but-not-Berk were probably still out there somewhere, if Chimera Dynamics hasn’t sent them all home by now. Even if they had, they’ve probably forgotten about her: the moody, perpetually pissed-off-all-the-time werewolf who couldn’t even keep one of them safe. The werewolf who didn’t bother with any of them unless it was absolutely needed. The fucking failure who let one of theirs get captured the one time it actually fucking counted, to live up to the fucking title she had been bequeathed.

She was nothing but a failure of “guardian”.

She didn’t deserve any titles such as that.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Things were getting hazy.

How long has it been, she wondered. She’s lost count of the years. It didn’t seem as important to keep track of anymore.

It’s been almost thirty years since she’s seen Himiko, the Solarii, or the Oni. The only thing left on the island were the animals and the ruins. That much she kind of remembered.

It was peaceful, but complacency was settling in her bones.

Maybe now she could leave. Maybe she only needed time and space before attempting to depart Yamatai. Maybe she could try to leave tomorrow. She’d have to build a raft, though.

That PT boat was well beyond its years. It couldn’t be fixed. Not anymore.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Fuck Himiko.

Fuck Yamatai.

Fuck everything.

She was going to die on this island.

This island was going to be her fucking tomb.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The shadows were coming alive. They crept and crawled better than any spider, slipping into the darkness and appearing elsewhere entirely. Some fucking kids with weird weapons were fighting them.

Those strange bladed weapons would do next to nothing against the Solarii and their bullets. She got them out as quickly as possible without speaking a word to them. At least she discovered that the PT boat’s state was reset along with everything else when the island itself reset. She could get it working again.

As soon as Himiko was disposed of, she’d send them on their way.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The zombies were new.

Most of them were the Solarii, bitten and overrun by the dozen or so that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

The group of survivors she had rallied and gathered to safety called them “walkers”.

They looked at her funny when she called them zombies.

Or maybe they were looking at her funny because of how hoarse her voice sounded.

She hadn’t used it in years, she’s realized.

No wonder her throat had hurt so much and they thought she had been a walker herself when they first met. 

They stared even more, when they saw the bite on her arm. Saw that she didn’t change into a mindless flesh-eating undead fuck after several days. Saw that the wound healed within the days they were around.

Fucking zombie bites. They took longer to heal. She figured it had to do with whatever virus it was that fueled their state of being undead.

They tried to get her to come with them when she finally managed to get them to shove off in the repaired PT boat. They didn’t understand why she stayed. It didn’t matter.

She couldn’t leave and it was pointless trying to explain it all. The Oni, the Solarii, Himiko.

She fucking hated this place.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Every time she told herself to not do, she does it anyway. She goes out, she helps people unlucky enough to wash up on Yamatai’s shores. She drives off the Solarii and the Oni. She defies Himiko with every ounce of her being by killing her undead fucking body and destroying her immortal fucking soul and sends off the poor dubious idiots she’s managed to somehow keep safe.

Sometimes, though…sometimes she’s never quite as lucky.

She cries for the ones she loses. It’s that world-crushing guilt all over again, and she’s just waiting for it to finish her off one of these days.

She’s still wondering why she risks her fucking neck for complete strangers.

She’s tried to stop herself. She’s tried to ignore them.

But the moment she hears the screams, the cries for help, it feels the guilt eating away at her like acid. It didn’t take much for her to go back out, to risk…well, not her life. It was damned hard to kill her. She sometimes wasn’t even sure she could die. Not by conventional means.

But she risked enough to help those who couldn’t defend themselves, the weak and the young, the invalids and the regular joes. Those who weren’t survivors, who weren’t hardened like she was.

She just couldn’t damn well let them die.

If she did, if she ever truly went through with it…she’d never be able to live it down, knowing she could have helped and didn’t. She couldn’t sit by and let them be gunned down in cold blood.

She’s had her hands soaked in blood, to the point that she was drowning in it, true…but she’d be damned if she let the blood of the innocent be added to the river she’s made.

She just didn’t know when to give up, as much as she wanted to.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

It gets easier to not feel anything for anyone anymore.

It gets easier to not flinch when a blade or a bullet carves its way through a victim she couldn’t help.

It gets easier to light the funeral pyre.

It gets easier to not grieve so openly, so emotionally, for them.

It gets easier to forget about them once they’re gone.

And yet…

Sometimes, she still cried. Sometimes, she pretended they were family or friends she’s inevitably lost to the ravages of time. They would all be well in their old age, if they weren’t dead by now.

If only she could remember who they were, what they looked like, or what their names were.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She was in awe the first time she saw the graceful, majestic beings that now graced the island of Yamatai.

She felt her heart pumping a staccato beat like gunfire in her chest, her blood singing away in her ears as she stared at the herds.

Dinosaurs.

There were _dinosaurs_ on Yamatai.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The majesty of the dinosaurs was gone now.

Now it was a real fight for survival. Forget the stupid fucking boars and the wolves and the sometimes crazy-as-shit deer when they were feeling bold and actually had the balls to hit someone with their antlers.

There were a myriad of predators thriving in this small ecosystem, huge predators like the Rex, the Carnies and the Dilos and even the goddamned tiny Compies were a threat if she wasn’t careful.

It was mind-boggling.

She worried about all of them, but none as much as the White Beast with the crimson eyes.

She was tricky.

She was smart.

She _learned_ and _adapted_. Besides the raptors…that big one had to be the smartest goddamned dinosaur on the island.

That was _terrifying_.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The raptors were hunting her. They didn’t think she knew, but oh, she knew. Her big wolf ears weren’t for decoration.

She noticed they liked doing that. They liked to make a sport of it; playing and toying with their victims, riling them up, making them paranoid before they struck.

She’s seen them do it plenty of times to the Solarii and prey-animals alike and they always fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

She just had to distract them with the Solarii patrol coming up ahead.

Then she could get away.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Fuck that giant Rex.

Fuck those club-tailed Ankies.

Screw those fucking dome-headed Pachys.

Fuck them all.

She needed a fucking drink. She needed to finish her moonshine still first though before that happened.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She hated getting shot in the head.

It fucking sucked.

Good thing none of the bullets or arrows were silver.

She was barely grateful for that, but mostly, she was bitter about it.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Himiko’s down and out. Again.

She was getting tired of this.

She wanted off this fucking hellhole.

It wasn’t easy avoiding every single fucking animal, person, or undead fuck on Yamatai, for Christ’s sakes. She wasn’t a fucking ghost, as much as she tended to fool most of the Solarii with the idea otherwise.

If she was, she wouldn’t want to haunt this place for a sunbeam. She’d rather go elsewhere and bug the shit out of someone else.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She wanted to kill that fucking raptor. The big red bastard. He broke his leg instead of hers and now he was helpless. Powerless. She could have done it.

She’s dealt with enough shit from these fuckers.

She could have crushed his fucking skull in with a rock and walked away, the pack’s wrath be damned.

She stood there, the boulder in her hands, staring down at the beast with a gut-torn disdain and hatred—

But she froze when she saw the utter defiance in those avian eyes, staring up at her. Waiting.

 _Daring_ her to do it with those fierce yellow eyes.

She tossed the giant rock aside, a strange feeling of respect coming over her. She’s never been this close to one of them. Not like this. Not for this long. She had lived alongside them for years and not once felt this surge of emotion overcome her like this.

It took her a few hours, but she managed to craft a sled and to haul the ungrateful bastard back home. She had to muzzle him so he couldn’t call his pack mates.

The last thing she needed was six more of the bastards, healthy and wholesome, descending upon her when her back was turned and stabbing her with their killer claws.

The absolutely _last_ fucking thing she needed.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She named the big red bastard.

Carver.

He was an asshole who tried carving her up like a turkey dinner with his killing claws on numerous occasions. Even if he somehow knew she was trying to help him. He did it out of spite.

It was a fitting name, she supposed.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She couldn’t remember her name any more.

It didn’t matter.

She never used it here.

No one spoke with her. There was no one to use it.

Nobody who spoke a language did, anyway.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The pack was slow to trust her.

They were moderately grateful that Carver was alive. His broken leg had healed magnificently.

He clubbed her in the face with his feathered tail when they were all done inspecting him and turned to leave.

Asshole.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The White Beast was smarter than she realized.

Smart enough to communicate with, even.

She actually managed to glean a short conversation with the great white monster. She had the pack’s help to thank for that.

Maybe an alliance could be crafted between them all.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The White Beast was now Carmilla.

She knew the hybrid dinosaur would love the name. Especially the bloody origins entailed to the name.

She was going to work with the old tyrannosaur next.

The other predators were too damned stupid to work with…but that old girl? Something told her there was something special about her. Something more than what meets the eye.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Carmilla helped with the old Rex. She was a stubborn old thing, but there were perks with having an intelligent giant dinosaur or eight on her side.

Her name’s Báthory now. Báthory seemed to be rather indifferent to it.

 

She’ll get used to it in time.  


**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She doesn’t know how long she’s been on the island anymore.

Time no longer mattered.

Escape didn’t matter either.

Anyone she found or rescued or helped off the island could piss off. They didn’t know shit about what she’s had to suffer, what she knew. They could take their sympathy and shove it where the sun don’t shine.

They would soon forget about her, anyway. They always did.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been stuck on this fucking island for as long as she has been, now would she?

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Another wreck. More scavenging.

More supplies to be had. She even found quite a number of footlockers and storage crates.

This shipwreck also had a classic acoustic guitar in it. A little beat up from the crash, but still in perfectly good condition.

She was so ecstatic at her find, that she had forgotten she didn’t know how to play.

Strangely enough, when she had finished with transporting, accounting for, and storing away everything else, she had picked it up and began plucking away at it. The notes just came to her. Music filled the air.

She could barely remember the last time she had heard music. Maybe when the Solarii sang when they thought no one else was listening, but she didn’t really count that as music.

She plucked at the strings, letting her mind wander aimlessly from one song to the next. Most of it classic rock, some of it contemporary or alternative, until she wandered into one song that just wouldn’t leave her be.

“ _I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…and I’ll fear no evil, because I’m blind to it all…and I walk beside the still waters and they restore my soul, but I can’t walk on the path of the right because I’m wrong…no, I can’t walk on the path of the right, because I’m wrong…_ ”

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Fuck Dilos. Fuck them right up the ass with a splintery wooden spoon coated in their own fucking poison.

She was going to be sick for a week.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had been sick.

She couldn’t remember anything about herself, in fact.

The thought depressed her as she lay on the scavenged couch from an old ship wreck in her cave-home, the pack chittering away as they hunched over one of her kills. A kill she no longer wanted to eat.

She had lost her appetite. Let them have it.

Stupid Dilos.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Gally eggs were _delicious_.

Why hadn’t she tried this sooner?

She hasn’t had scrambled eggs in years.

If she had the ingredients, she would have tried to make omelets. Maybe the next wreck would have fresh veggies. Or better yet, convenient packets of seeds and books on how to plant and grow and maintain gardens.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

There was an old man and a young girl on the island.

She followed them for some time, wary at first. They were different from other shipwreck survivors.

They were armed. That meant they were dangerous. They had the looks of killers in their eyes.

Just what had happened to the world outside?

When she finally managed to catch up to them, it was to intercept the Solarii from getting to them.

The old man had been just as wary of her as she had been of the both of them. The girl, though, was more willing to trust—especially after she had helped them drive off the insane fuck-face cultists bastards.

They told her about the strange new phenomena she’s noticed on the island. The caves were filled with some kind of dust, but when she mentioned it, they corrected her that those were spores.

They called it the cordyceps brain infection. They told of how the world had fallen to the infection. The girl was immune to it.

It turned out, later on down the line she found out, that she too was immune. The old man was troubled, even if he said nothing on the matter.

Maybe it was better she was on Yamatai, after all. The world sounded like it fucking sucked almost as badly as this place.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She gave the guitar to the girl. Ellie was her name. Joel, the old man, had watched from a short distance to the point of nearly hovering. He had distrust glittering in his dark eyes, but it softened some when she gave up her only piece of musical relief to Ellie.

She had noticed how Ellie had stared longingly at the instrument back in her cave and decided the girl could use it more than she did.

She wanted to regret her decision, but she didn’t.

Ellie waved to her for as long as she could from the PT boat as they chugged along, farther and farther out, until even she couldn’t see them anymore on the horizon.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

What has she _done_?

She had burned the island. She had to. She had no choice.

Everything—everyone—all of it…all of it was gone.

Gone.

She _burned_ it all _down_.

She had no choice, she had to. The spores from the cordyceps, the fucking alien monsters…they would all have killed the world if she hadn’t.

But by god, at what _cost_?

She tried to think of other ways that it could have been resolved, she tried to think of other ways it could have been fixed—but nothing came to mind. It was all blank. She had had no choice.

All the Solarii had either been turned into incubators for the fucking alien monsters or they had been infected by the cordyceps.

She killed her pack. She killed her rexes. Her beautiful, dysfunctional, killer family.

She killed everyone.

She was a fucking _monster_.

Why can’t she just die from the guilt and disgust with herself already? She was already halfway dead from the heartbreak.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She could still taste the ashes in her mouth, even weeks and months later. They were bitter like bile, tickling the back of her throat, threatening to overwhelm her if she thought about it for too long.

She could barely look the pack in the eye. Her rexes.

They were alive.

They were all _alive_.

Her pack, her rexes, everyone and everything else.

The island reset itself like it always did. Everything came back the way it had been before the cordyceps infection, before the xenomorphs and the yautja. They didn’t seem to remember. But she did.

She’d remember, for a time.

She couldn’t wait to just fucking forget about it all.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She hated sleeping.

She had nightmares, she knew she did.

She just couldn’t remember what they were about.

The pack often stayed close. One of them was usually in the cave at night. One of them always came to sleep with her when they noticed.

It was the closest to comfort she could ever ask for. They were the only ones who would dare come near her. No one else cared for a monster like they did.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She doesn’t know why she’s trying to secure a truce with the Solarii.

Again.

They had no crazy leaders. They were vulnerable. Weak. They could be wiped out.

Instead, she was trying to trade with them.

The last few times, they shot at her.

The last few times after that, they took her shit and didn’t trade anything. She burned an outpost in retaliation.

Now, they were actually trying to be genuine in their trading.

Maybe she should burn more outposts down.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She was surprised anything worthwhile came out of trading.

She’s tried in the past, with marginal success. Isolated individuals, mostly, were easier to work with. But the entire fucking home base was quite another thing.

It worked, though. It actually fucking worked.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

FUCK HIMIKO.

FUCK MATHIAS.

FUCK YAMATAI.

All that fucking effort, fucking RUINED.

She HATED this fucking island.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She found some sketches hidden away in her things. Buried, is more like.

Most of them were completed, all except for one.

It was half-done and looked like it had been stained with liquid at one point. All of them were yellowed and fragile with age.

She didn’t recognize any of their faces.

Maybe they were people she rescued in the past?

She stuffed them back where she had found them.

She had a lot of shit to organize.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Another child—another fucking _child_ had to die in her arms.

She broke down in spite of herself, despite the eyes on her, despite the half-assed consolations and the shared grief. What the fuck did they know? They didn’t understand a fucking thing, the ignorant fools. She sobbed for all the people she could remember not being able to save. She cried like it had been her child just cut down in cold blood. She cried like it had been her family.

She was tired of _feeling_. She was _tired_ of the regret, of the guilt, of all this fucking death. It was a never ending cycle. It was never going to break.

She was just so fucking tired of this place.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Another fucking mess left behind by the Solarii that she had to clean up.

It was a pregnant woman this time, looking about ready to pop if she hadn’t died.

Two kills in one.

She puked until she was dry heaving an empty stomach before she could even get close to the burnt body.

Christ, she hated the smell of burnt flesh about as much as she hated the smell of human blood.

She finished the job that the Solarii couldn’t even do.

She burned the body in full and watched as the ashes rose up into the dying light of the sunset, carried off by the wind to places unknown.

She envied them.

At least they could leave in death. She knew she’d never have that privilege.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

More bodies.

She couldn’t get there in time.

The guilt was eating her alive from the inside out. Now all she could taste these days was a sour bile, always at the back of her throat, and she wondered just how badly she’ll end up screwing up the next time this happened.

Just how many more had to die on her watch? How many more would she have to burn? How many more would she fail to save?

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Would it be so bad if she stopped trying?

If she just…let go?

There was very little silver on Yamatai, and even fewer bits that were easily accessible.

But the twin knives she had, the one made from a giant fang and the other high tensile steel…both of their edges were made of silver.

It wouldn’t hurt if she just nicked her neck or sliced her arm open. A slight warm pinch, maybe some discomfort from the touch of silver on her flesh. Or maybe if she took it off the blades and melted it down to make a bullet.

Just one. That’s all she needed.

Quick and painless.

Bullet to the brain pan, squish.

Nobody would miss her, save maybe the pack and the rexes. But even they would move on. They didn’t have time to mourn. They didn’t have the capacity for long-term grief.

They would move on.

Just like everyone else.

Just like the world.

The world didn’t stop to mourn for the passing of every living being on its surface.

She was no different. She was nothing special.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Day in and day out.

The days were blurring together.

She’s lost track of time altogether. It hasn’t felt important in decades. Who the fuck was going to keep track of everything? Why should she even bother?

She had to be a few hundred years old, at the very least.

She didn’t want to be reminded of that. Who the fuck would?

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She didn’t care if she fell off the cliffs anymore. She didn’t care if her bones broke, if her organs ruptured, if everything about her turned to a pulverized mess inside and out.

She could feel it all heal up, painful as it all was. It always fucking healed.

She wished for the day it never fucking did. She’s been wishing for it for decades.

Fucking lycanthropy.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

More scavenging. Most of it turned out to be useless junk that didn’t work or function worth a lick.

She had to toss most of it.

She had to plan a raid against the Solarii soon.

She especially loved trolling the Russians. They were such fucking cocksuckers when they got all riled up, it was almost adorable hearing them call her a little whore.

Pfftt. Like they would know anything about that anymore.

She bet they were all fucking each other, what, with the lack of women on this island.

They sure as shit couldn’t get anywhere with her. They were too afraid of burning their dicks off if they tried.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

More bodies. She gave up burying them a long time ago.

It was a waste of time and energy.

It made more sense to burn them.

At least their ashes were free to drift on the wind and escape from Yamatai.

It hurt just a little less every time. It was exhausting to feel so much all the time. The wounds were so scabbed over, it would take a serious itch to rip them all open again.

She wasn’t tempted to scratch that itch and she doubted she ever would again.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Why did they call her the Fire Walker again?

Was it because she had burnt the island down?

Wait…why had she burnt the island down?

She was so confused. Maybe she did it out of insanity. Maybe she did it out of desperation to get away.

That seemed a valid enough excuse.

She could barely pinpoint a moment in time when she hadn’t done something out of craziness.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

More books!

The small joy and elation lived a little longer than usual when she found a pun joke book amongst them.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed herself silly.

It felt strange to smile.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Why did people she helped feel it was _necessary_ to touch her or even go so far as to try and hold her?

She hated being touched. Hated it when they stared at her like _she_ was the strange one.

Especially the children. They were especially touchy-feely. It made her… _uncomfortable_ …with how much they wanted physical affection.

She would sooner hug the raptors than a child.

It reminded her too much of holding a dead child in her arms, screaming her lungs out and sobbing her eyes out. Alive or not, she didn’t want them touching her. She didn’t want to hurt them. They would find out just how freakish she was, inside and out, if they got too close. They’d burn if they stuck around for too long.

Let them be disappointed.

She fucking hated being touched.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Fuck this fucking island.

Fuck the Solarii, fuck Mathias the mad fuck, fuck the stupid fucking Oni, and fuck that fucking stupid fucking bitch Himiko.

They were all the same. They were all fucking murderers.

She was tired of burning the dead. Tired of being too late. Tired of being a fucking screw up.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Her knives were looking friendlier by the day. She found herself staring at them more and more, thinking how quick it’d be.

Just a nick.

Painless.

She wouldn’t admit her hands trembled when she was alone, when she toyed with them whilst sitting on the couch, contemplating. Weighing the options.

Why should she waste another breath on this fucking hellhole?

She wasn’t going anywhere. She was never escaping. She was going to die on this fucking island someday, if she was lucky, that much she knew to be true.

At least she could go out on her own terms. Not by Himiko or any of the brainwashed fucks on this fucking island. Her hands were still trembling when she let the edge of the blade hover over the underside of her arm. She could feel the heat simmer off the silver, could smell that disgusting burnt ozone scent from it.

Despite the shake in her hands, she didn’t feel upset or angry or depressed at how it all came to this. She was so tired.

She just wanted it all to go away. The constant fatigue, the endless guilt eating away at her from the inside out, the pain, that sick taste always lingering at the back of her throat like bitter ashes.

She almost would have done it, if her stupid fucking radio hadn’t buzzed.

Her hands steadied themselves when she shoved the knives in the sheaths on her thighs. She gathered up the rest of her weapons and set out.

She needed to get away from this place for a while. If she didn’t, she probably would have gone through with it.

At least Clover wouldn’t have starved if she had done it. She would need all the food she could get, if she wanted her broken front limb to heal up proper.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

A kid. Another stupid fucking kid.

A stubborn, stupid fucking kid.

She almost would have thought him an old man because of his white hair—but his scent mark was all wrong. Young and nubile, healthy and fit but skinny as all fuck.

He would get snapped like a toothpick on this fucking island if he wasn’t careful.

She had to get him out of this fucking hellhole before that happened.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Why the fuck was he still here? Why the fuck wouldn’t he go home, wherever the fuck that was?

She didn’t believe a word he said.

Nobody stuck with someone else, somet _hing_ else like her, just because they thought the monster was lonely.

He was just too fucking stupid and scared to be alone himself. She could see it in his eyes.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

For fuck’s sake, he would not stop fucking _brooding_. She was tired of practically tasting it in the air.

Maybe if she kicked him out and got him some fresh fucking air, he’d lighten the fuck up.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Of _course_ he had to fucking wander off. Of course he nearly got his face fucking eaten off by a pack of Compies.

The little fucking scavengers would take on any prey if they thought they could get away with it.

She’s seen them try to tackle her raptors more than once.

Ugh, Christ al-fucking-mighty, this fucking kid was going to get himself killed if he didn’t watch his fucking step. She thought on the matter for a while, mulling on it while he still continued to refuse to leave Yamatai.

Short of forcing him to go, she couldn’t do much else if he chose to stay. She wouldn’t. It was his choice to stick out his neck and let it get chopped off if he wasn’t careful.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Another dead survivor. The kid tried to help, but even with an extra pair of hands, she lost him. The man died from a stupid fucking piece of shrapnel shoved in his gut and there had been nothing she could do about it.

Christ, she hated this fucking place. She hated everything about it.

She hated herself most of all, hated how fucking slow she had been.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

He’s started calling her Ash.

Great. Next thing on the agenda was becoming best fucking pals!

Tch.

It didn’t matter if he called her Fucking Bitch like the rest of the speaking population on Yamatai. She wouldn’t remember it for it to stick in the long run.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Stupid fucking kid. He stepped in a goddamned bear trap.

He was lucky— _so fucking lucky_ —they were the toothless kind. She would have probably had to amputate his leg if it had been the ones with teeth, his leg would have been so fucking mangled. She’s seen the damage those kinds of traps did, especially on those that struggled. It would have been easier if it had come to that.

A part of her was glad it hadn’t.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

He was getting good at using the bow. He was always in a static position, mind—when compared to her constant motion, it was laughable in terms of skill—but he was getting better.

Much better.

He was strong and the conditioning didn’t take as long as she had thought it would.

He was surprisingly fit.

Good.

That might help him in the long run if it meant him staying alive.

She was, dare she admit it, _proud_.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She still couldn’t figure out his game.

Why the fuck would anyone _voluntarily_ _stay_ on this fucking wet rock? He spouted off answers—maybe things he thought she wanted to hear—but she didn’t believe any of it.

She wasn’t fucking lonely and while she was alone, she chose to be that way.

It was better for everyone.

It would have been better for him too, if he just fucking left.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Christ, this was _embarrassing_.

She had known the Carnies had been in the area, but this—this was piss poor, even for her.

She had let her thoughts intrude upon her hunt, to fuck with her concentration. She had been careless, sloppy, too engrossed with the dilemma of the kid back at her place—that she had completely failed to realize she hadn’t been the only predator in the area.

One hit and that was all it took. Fucking Dilos.

They were persistent little fucks. It took all her energy to lose them.

First the Dilos, then the Carnies—what a clusterfuck.

The kid came looking for her and brought her back before any real damage could be done.  Said something about her being sick, but she couldn’t remember a fucking thing.

Tch. She doesn’t get sick. _Humans_ got sick. Not her.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She’s told him about the island before, in his first few days on Yamatai. About Himiko. About the Solarii and their backwards murderous ways, and about the Oni that guarded Himiko’s body—when it was there, at any rate.

But the first time he saw the unnatural snow falling from the skies, he was shocked.

It wasn’t even winter proper yet for snow. It was completely out of season.

It’s just what that fucking undead bitch did, though.

She fucked with the natural state of things.

He’d have to learn that if he stuck around any longer.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

More survivors.

A mixed eclectic group of adults, teens, and young children and even a flying lemur. Odd.

The people were all dressed up in colour-coded clothes. They could control things like air and water, earth and fire, she noticed off the bat. She wasn’t too keen on revealing her own pyrotechnic abilities quite yet.

Call it old habits that died hard.

She didn’t trust them.

Only the Solarii had any clue to her powers and even then, it was hazy, vague—like a foggy dream that they always seemed to forget about and only just barely remember the obscurest of details and only then when it was much too late.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Christ on a fucking shit-biscuit, these people were annoying. Just jibber-jabbering away, asking her all these fucking questions when all she wanted to do was smack the shit out of them, and tell them to shut the fuck up and leave her the fuck alone.

But nooooo, she had to be all diplomatic about shit and had to curb her tongue before she had a bunch of idiots storming out and getting themselves killed.

She was not going to have their fucking deaths on her conscious.

Not if she could help it.

Even if that meant putting up with their bitching and moaning about this or that, or asking her, ugh… _questions_.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

They were going to burn the kid if she didn’t make it.

And like a damned fool, that idiot kid living her space and eating up her food decided to tag along.

She still couldn’t figure out why she agreed to it.

Maybe it was because he could be an extra set of eyes on the lookout and there’s always a benefit to that. Maybe it’s because he was halfway decent to Fuck Town with a bow and maybe—just maybe—it was because she wanted him to see first-hand just how fucking insane the fucking Solarii and Mathias _really_ were up close and personal.

It worked.

Sort of.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Cocksucking motherfuckers. Stupid fucking Solarii, ambushing the shit out of her.

Good thing she hadn’t lost everyone’s meal. That would have been bad. She’d have had to go back out for more, run the risk of getting into an altercation with another predator in competition for food.

She was having trouble breathing and walking right though, by the time she got back home.

It probably had something to do with the arrows lodged in her leg and her back, and poking holes in her lungs.

That would probably do it.

She loathed the thought of asking for help, but she couldn’t reach them. And she sure as shit didn’t trust those new fucking faces to fix this. And as much as it pained her to admit, even to herself, she did trust the kid more than anyone at this point. Just enough to yank a few arrows out of her back.

But that’s it. That’s the extent of the trust.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

He had a chance to leave, but he didn’t take it. The first time around had been a big fucking SNAFU, what with the pair of them getting ambushed by the fucking Solarii.

It was the first time he saw what a complete and utter monster she really was, rising up like a fucking zombie after getting shot in the head and going on a roaring rampage against the fuckers.

Now they were standing on the beach again, watching the others leave on a seriously overcrowded PT boat that had nearly over a dozen people and animals when it should only host maybe less than that.

She told him he should have gone, but there he went off again, spouting that nonsensical nonsense about wanting to stay.

Who the fuck does that?

Whatever.

It was kind of funny to hear him stick with the same stupid excuse.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Her surprise was _ruined_.

A nice big, fat boat ripe for the fucking taking and he had to ruin it by throwing a hissy fit about her killing that stupid Solarii brother.

Allen didn’t fucking get it. He just didn’t _get it._

The Solarii used all kinds of dirty fucking tactics to weasel their way out of dying.

If you showed them mercy, they’d turn right around, and stab you in the back with the closest pointy object they could get their grubby paws on. If she had stood down, that stupid old man would have grabbed the bat again and start wailing it all over the both of them.

Crying out for mercy was a dirty fucking lie to get people to drop their guards.

Why couldn’t he see that humans were fucking horrible and that it was stupid to trust anyone?

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Maybe she was the stupid one.

The video from the Doctor told her so.

And when the Doctor says something, it’s probably true.

As soon as she saw that stupid video, the memory of that goofy-faced jerk popped into her head. It was quick as a wink, there and gone again. She barely remembered the man, but how could anyone forget that stupid smile or wild mop of hair or nonsensical attitude of his?

She only remembered the man himself. The Doctor. Not where or when or why or how she met him. Just the Doctor.

He told her to give Allen a chance.

He told her to soften up.

That alone wasn’t going to be easy.

She didn’t know how to be soft anymore.

It was hard to let the defenses down, once they were built up and in place. There was no off-switch. They would have to be broken down, beaten apart, and if something were to happen, it wouldn’t be as easy to put them back up again.

It was hard to not see the faults in everyone she met, to not size them up with the idea that she might have to fucking fight them tooth and nail, to analyze their weaknesses and their strengths and use whatever she could to her advantage to win—whether that meant killing or not was always up in the air.

She usually killed.

That’s _all_ she was good for.

She was a _monster_ , after all. Monsters weren’t soft and kind and merciful. Monsters were killers.

She’d never amount to anything more than that. She wasn’t going to pretend to be anything else otherwise.

It didn’t matter what the Doctor told her otherwise on that matter.

He wouldn’t understand and Allen sure as hell couldn’t either.

But at the very damned least…she could _try_ to not be so hard on him. Maybe.

If he’d stop being such an optimistic prick. She hated that. What was the point in pretending to see a silver lining in everything where there was none? All it did was feed a person false hope, and that sure as shit didn’t do jack shit for anyone except disappoint them in the end.

_…then why the fuck am I crying over this stupid shit? Why the fuck do I even care?_

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The Doctor had to have been the one to send this boat. It had more than the average boat. Loads more.

Allen didn’t see the pattern.

She did. All the texts—medical, engineering, mechanics, flora and fauna, language, and more—told her as much.

Nobody came out on the water with these convenient things, nor did they overstock the medical ward with additional meds like this. Meds and bandages and IV lines and needles galore that could really help in a pinch.

She couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth when she said them, but she said them all the same, quiet and hushed like an answered prayer.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Music.

She had _music_ again.

Sweet fucking Christ, it’s been so fucking _long_.

She hated that she was crying again, especially in front of Allen but fuck’s sake…she didn’t care anymore.

She had music and she just didn’t fucking care who saw.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Stupid Solarii brother, imbedding a damned axe in her back.

Didn’t they know how much that shit hurts?

At least she got a few awesome somersaults in the mix.

And scared the shit out of Allen.

That had been priceless, even if he didn’t think so.

She didn’t even mind the piss-poor attempt of him scolding her about it after he found her.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

The fuck was that thing he had on his shoulders? The fuck was all this shit?

Who the fuck came up with the name ‘Innocence’?

Christ, the number of jokes she could come up with that name were endless.

But holy shit.

It sure as fuck could take a bullet or three and look none the worse for wear.

Where the fuck could she get one for herself?

His hand doing that transmogrification thingy wasn’t half-bad, neither. It was actually…pretty damn cool, she had to admit. He had fucking knives for fingers on his left hand.

Edward Scissorhands, eat your heart out.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She loved scaring Allen when she jumped off cliffs.

It was the closest thing she got to joy these days.

Other than that, she didn’t know why she liked doing it.

Maybe it was the rush.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Holy fuck, who the fuck was this kid?

He was a fucking demon at cards.

Innocent-looking, her ass. He was the fucking devil in disguise. He was secretly an asshole who pretended to be nice.

She hates card games now. He must have cheated.

She didn’t know how, but he must have. She’d have to figure that shit out so she could do the same right back at him. Fucker.

At least she still had chess and Monopoly on her side. She still fucked him up at those two games.

See how he likes it.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She still couldn’t figure out why the fuck she still helped people. People were fucking dangerous. They were treacherous and unpredictable. They were stressful, for god’s sakes. The last group had been especially that—but at the fucking least, she could distract herself from them.

Now, not so much.

Four people. That number paled in comparison to the last group’s number.

It didn’t make it any less stressful being around them, hearing them talk up Yamatai like it was some kind of amazing, once-in-a-lifetime find that needed to be explored. In detail.

She was cooped up with them, and the only fucking person she actually could stand being around was Allen.

It surprised her to admit, but well, she couldn’t take it back now. Not after she had just admitted it to his face.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_!

Goddammit, why the fuck would he go after the Big Guy like that? Did he have to prove something or was he just trying to overcompensate for something—especially after turning his fucking arm into a goddamn _big fucking sword_? Fuck, this was mostly her fault. She let herself get distracted by the small fry when she should have focused on the bigger threat. But he knew better, she’s told him a million fucking times: Leave the Big Guy to her, _always_!

_Christ, Allen, you stupid motherfucker!_

She couldn’t let him die from a stupid broken leg or from a stupid fall into the sea or drowning; there was no way she was letting that happen!

The night blurred together, but she got the gist of what she had done. She had dragged him out after pulling him out of the sea, one-armed and looking like a drowned fucking cat and hid him away from sight so the Oni wouldn’t find them. She had to keep him warm, she had to set his leg, she had to stop the bleeding and she had to give him blood, and everything was just motions, getting things done. It didn’t help he was half-way dead and kept nodding in and out of consciousness.

She couldn’t lose him.

She just fucking _couldn’t_.

She didn’t know what she’d do if he died. Not after all the stupid bullshit they’ve gone through together in the last few years.

Christ.

She actually had to think about that.

He’s been here for longer than she had actually expected.

She clutched at him all the tighter, trying to stifle the stupid fucking tears that threatened to spill.

It hurt to care for someone else besides her pack and her rexes. It hurt to care for another fucking person like this.

It meant she ran the risk of losing them.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Motherfucker.

That _motherfucker_.

She’s told him for years to stay the fuck inside on full moons.

To not come looking for her when she was in her fur!

She wouldn’t hurt him, but she didn’t…

She didn’t want him to see that _other fucking face_ of hers. That fucking monstrous face.

She couldn’t even find it in her to eat that night, even if she knew she’d pay for it the next few days—weak as shit from the shifting.

She just kept running.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Christ, what a fucking joke. This had to be some kind of joke. Or she was dreaming.

But it hurt too fucking much to be a joke.

A fucking silver knife. She had landed on some stupid ceremonial silver knife in one of those stupid fucking wrecks down in the sea caves.

Why the fuck was she out here, risking her neck for a few useless trinkets?

Then she remembered why, as she lay there bleeding, clutching at her side, trying to not pass out because she needed to rest, not fucking sleep.

That idiot back home, that’s why. He was better company when he was happy and not brooding over his old life. She couldn’t do much to help him on that front, so why not try to lessen the pain with stupid shenanigans and bullshit like treasure hunting?

God, she’s an idiot.

But she was going to be the idiot to walk back through those fucking doors with a bag full of gold and stupid carvings and shit, if it got him to smile and forget about the bad shit in life, even if it’s just for a minute.

She had to get this stupid piece of silver out of her first, though.

Right after she rested…

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Her insides were on fire.

She was shocked she was still alive.

He never did explain how he fixed things. He probably didn’t want to talk about. So she didn’t push it.

But Christ, she kind of wanted to know the squicky details. Call her morbid.

She really just wanted to know how the fuck she was still alive and couldn’t remember the last time she’s been in pain for this fucking long.

She was kind of glad he came looking for her, though.

She might not be here if he hadn’t.

She didn’t want to put him through that shit.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Allen didn’t like her pun jokes.

Good.

She thought they were hilarious.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Fucking stupid! She always seemed to put her whole goddamn foot in her mouth and jam it down her throat for good measure. God, why was she such a fucking asshole? Why couldn’t she, just for once, actually enjoy something?

Was she purposefully, subconsciously sabotaging herself to keep people at arm’s length? She didn’t fucking know. She doesn’t even know how to be around with people half the fucking time.

Fucking idiot.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Goddammit.

Everything was a clusterfuck all over again. She was spewing out one thing and thinking about another thing entirely. She wanted to stop. She wanted to stop wrecking shit. She wanted _to not fuck something up_ that was actually halfway decent but she couldn’t. She didn’t fucking know how to.

God, she was such a fuck up.

She couldn’t even blame Allen for wanting to leave.

It probably would have been for the best.

At the very least, he’d be far away from something like her. He’d be safer elsewhere than here.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

What the actual fuck.

This kid didn’t know how to make up his fucking mind.

Then again, who was she to judge?

Neither could she.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She was nervous.

She honestly didn’t know if he’d like this shit or not. She barely remembered what this holiday was for. She only had the barest ideas and snippets of Christmas and trees and presents and this was all just…cobbled together. She had done it on a whim.

Partly, she had done it out of guilt. She wanted to make up for being an asshole for…

It’s been four years and some change, she realized.

Time really hasn’t fazed her all that much when she thought on it and yet at the same time, she could actually sit down and remember shit.

She didn’t know how to feel about that, so she chose not to. It was too confusing. She just wanted to make sure everything was good to go.

She just hoped he’d like this shit.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Why do people need to _hug_ each other?

 _Why_?

Also, she would have to squirrel away some good booze for next year, make sure she didn’t open it before next Christmas or it’d taste like sour vinegar.

She wanted to see drunk Allen, but fuck, she just hoped he consented to at least a sip if not a cup. She sure as shit wasn’t going to shove the bottle down his throat.

She was an asshole, not a heartless bitch.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Shit, shit, shit—where the fuck was the pack? Where was Clover or Spectre or Creed? Where were any of them? Fuck.

FUCK.

She thought she’d sleep well tonight. For once, she thought she’d sleep okay, but no. All she could remember from those stupid fucking night terrors was the smell of blood, the feeling of powerlessness and helplessness.

Nothing concrete or worth talking about. She hated sleeping.

She hated it even more that he heard her.

She didn’t want him thinking she was some weak motherfucker who couldn’t handle something that wasn’t even real. She knew he didn’t and probably never would, but shit. Still. Christ, she hated the things in her head she couldn’t even remember.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She barely recalled asking him to stay.

Shitty memory problems notwithstanding…it was…it was kind of nice.

She didn’t want the moment to end, and she almost let that thought alone overwhelm her. It actually felt nice to be this close to someone, but she almost felt like she was waiting for some kind of fucking disaster to hit and she felt sick at that.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

No, no, no, no, NO.

Fucking Oni!

Those fucking fucks, if they hurt him, she was going to lay siege to their fucking stronghold and burn it to the fucking ground and then some!

She had to get there fast before they did anything to him…if they hadn’t already.

She hated the smell of Allen’s blood.

It meant he was hurt.

And it was part of that idiot’s fault for going back, too. Fucking idiot!

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Why? Why would he fucking do that? _Why_ the fuck would he _do that_?

How could he stoop so low? He should have thought it _disgusting_ to even _think_ of kissing her.

What the fuck did he even _see_ in her, a fucking monster, a killer?

He could have someone else so much better than her, especially if he got fucking smart and left this place.

Who in their right mind thought a monster like her was even worthy of being _looked_ at in that kind of light? She could barely stomach the idea of letting someone in that fucking close, because all she could think of was the disaster it would end in, the heartbreak it’d eventually lead to.

She wasn’t worth the time or investment or even the thought of pursuit for that kind of relationship.

She wanted to forget it even happened. She wanted to curl up in a fucking cold dark corner and just _die_.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She could be a cold bitch sometimes. She knew this.

It helped keep distance between herself and people.

Strangers, mostly.

It was harder to sever a connection she sorely wanted to keep up, though. A friend she didn’t want to lose.

That word was so foreign to her.

 _Friend_.

It was one of too many words that were foreign to her, words that most people take for granted, and the feelings that associated themselves to those words.

She was scared, though.

She knew how to feel that just fine.

She didn’t want to lose Allen because of her stupid fucking stubbornness and childish fear. But she was just as scared of opening doors that really couldn’t be closed once they were opened.

Christ, she was a fucking coward.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Fucking Orcs.

Fucking Dwarves.

Fucking Wargs.

What in the name of fuck was going on around here?

Hooray Carmilla and Báthory!

Oh, fuck…Luna…

She was going to _murder_ that stupid giant albino-looking motherfucker.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Fuck the ocean.

Eat a bag of dicks.

And fuck the numerous old wrecks hiding beneath the ocean water level too.

Stabbing her in the goddamned foot.

Fuck Himiko too. She almost forgot about that. Fuck Himiko.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Christ, he could get sappy.

She couldn’t fault him for it, though.

She couldn’t find it in her to fault him for his optimistic viewpoint either. Not anymore.

It rekindled that feeling of hope. It was terrifying to hope, sometimes. It was worse to live in fear and skepticism, to hate all the time, to forget to look at a glass as half full and not just half empty.

She didn’t want to forget how it feels. She wanted to grab hold of that feeling and never let it go, to never forget it again.

She was done forgetting shit. She wanted to try and actually fucking remember for _once_ in her goddamn, miserable life.

Even if that meant opening doors that couldn’t be closed once opened. She was, for once, willing to actually fucking _try_.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

…she was pretty sure she wasn’t a virgin.

But fuck, she couldn’t remember the last time she had sex.

She was more shocked to find out that he was a virgin, though.

Wait. Did that make her the cradle robber because she was older, or was he technically the cradle robber because he was born a century earlier?

…on second thought, she’d rather not break her brain on the matter.

She’d rather focus on the good on the situation. The part where she wasn’t a complete fuck-up and was actually trying to be close to Allen. Even if being that close meant being intimate.

She didn’t see any kind of downfall to that idea.

Not anymore.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

What the fuck did this Cross guy _do_ to Allen? They couldn’t even play Monopoly anymore because of the psychological scarring bullshit he did to him!

If she ever fucking met the guy by some bizarre time-travel-bullshit-loop like she had with Allen, she was punching him in the fucking face.

Teach him to mess with what’s hers now that she was around.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She almost wanted to believe they could somehow get away from Yamatai. Travel the world, even.

He’s really changed her.

She was still on the fence about whether or not it was a good thing.

She was going to tentatively lean towards good for now.

It’s what you did when you loved someone, right? Focus on the good and try not to focus on the bad?

She hoped that’s how it went.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

_Fuck_ her fucking _broken head_.

Christ, she wanted to cry and she probably was already, she couldn’t tell anymore if she did or didn’t sometimes.

She _hated_ not remembering who she was. She hated not remembering who she had lost, who she knew, who she had once loved a long time ago, or where she was born or any of that shit. Why did she ever let herself fucking forget? _WHY_?

She hated this. She hated it almost as much as she hated fucking Yamatai and Himiko and the Solarii and Mathias and the Oni.

Fuck…she probably was crying…she just wanted to _stop forgetting_ and actually _remember shit_.

She knew for sure that she never wanted to forget Allen. He actually grounded her, anchored her to something of a semblance of sanity, to something _real_ in this world. Something she hasn’t been for such a long time.

She asked herself for the thousandth time since they became intimate what he saw in her and why. She eventually decided, like every time before, that it didn’t matter in the end. If she could choose the one thing to remember, even if she forgot everything else…she’d choose to remember him.

It was the least he deserved.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

She sometimes didn’t feel like she deserved someone like Allen in her life.

Before him, all she knew was blood and fire and death. That was her world.

But now here they were, doing something that involved none of that.

He was throwing her a birthday party. She didn’t even know how old she was, but he told her it didn’t matter.

She knew he was right, though.

It didn’t matter.

Christ, when did she get so soft? It was actually… _nice_.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Oh, god.

Oh, god, this was all _her_ fault.

All her fucking _fault_.

If she hadn’t—if she hadn’t stayed alive for this fucking long, he wouldn’t be hurt. He wouldn’t be gutted like this because of her.

Those fucking asshole werewolves were there _because of her_.

She felt sick. She couldn’t even look at the damage that was done, she was too scared of staring and freezing up and not doing anything. She kept her gaze pinned to his face, trying to reassure him, but her voice was shaking, breaking, on the verge of disappearing altogether to give way to wordless sobs.

Allen was going to _die_ because of her, if she didn’t think of something quick.

And if he lived…if he lived, he’d be a fucking werewolf. Just like her.

She wished she hadn’t killed the others off so quickly, wished that she had had the time to draw out their suffering.

It would have been nothing in comparison to what he’d be going through, if he lived that is.

The teleporter that they were going to use on her, to take her away, was the only option. It could only transport one biological signature. She’d rather it be him. If she had to choose between the two of them, she’d always choose him. He deserved to live more than her.

She’s done things, horrible fucking things that she either couldn’t speak about ever again or remember—but she knew somehow deep down that she did horrible fucking shit. A part of her is glad she doesn’t know all the details, if any at all.

She’d never want him to know.

An idea struck her like a bolt out of the blue.

The Doctor.

The Doctor could help Allen. She vaguely recalled another island. Somewhere close to Yamatai, maybe? She wasn’t so sure, not after this long, but she kind of knew that it was close enough for any of the survivors who had left Yamatai to get to. A place she always sent them to, whether she knew it consciously or not. It was a place to recuperate. A safe place.

Safe.

The Doctor would keep him safe. He’d help Allen. He wouldn’t turn him away.

As soon as she hit the coordinates and the send button, she hated herself more than she’s ever remembered. The look in Allen’s silvery eyes when he realized too late what she had done—that only one of them could get off of Yamatai and it was him—she wished that those fucking asshole werewolves had hurt her enough that she wouldn’t have to live with the guilt for long.

She wouldn’t be able to stop crying and feeling sick with herself for days, weeks. She just knew it.

Christ, she was a fucking coward. She hated what a fucking coward she was. She was going to hate herself for as long as she lived and Christ, she wasn’t sure if that was going to be a very long time, or a very short time at this point.

She didn’t know anything anymore.

If he died, she wondered if she’d feel it and just drop dead too.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

Allen felt his heart thumping so hard in his chest, he almost would have believed it’d explode out. He breathed hard and heavy, trying to steady the rhythm, but it too longer than he would have liked.

Likewise, across from him, Abe Sapien was troubled with his own functions and stumbled away. So much information surging between them, and it was all thanks to a single trinket that Ash must have had for hundreds of years before giving it to him: a pair of very old coins that had been rubbed down so much, nobody could tell whether they were of Chinese, Japanese, Korean or other origins aside from being a part of the Asian culture somewhere in the world at some point in time. They were tied together by a cord of leather.

It was Ash’s ‘location system’ for him, as she had dubbed it a while back. Trinkets she had collected over time, Abe had explained, were imbued with memories, events, feelings, thoughts of their owners.

He could psychically pull all of those to gain insight about the person it had been in possession or contact of—whether it was for a short period of time like a few minutes to a few hours, or in Ash’s case, centuries’ worth of time.

To see how she descended from the woman he was only just getting to know into the cold killer she had been before he had met and back again.

But to feel _everything_ she had felt for the first five hundred years, before he came and during his time there…

It was all still rolling around in his head, snippets that flickered in and out of focus, not quite settling long enough for him to linger on just one piece to mull over it.

It was as though he had been subjected to a slideshow that went by too quickly for him to gain a clear insight of what was really going on. Thoughts and impressions helped alleviate that, but not by much.

It was overwhelming. To feel what she felt, to hear her thoughts, so full of self-hatred and loathing and disgust, all of it aimed at herself…

“She hated herself so much,” he found himself saying, shock the first thing to bloom in him as things began to settle. “She hated what she was. Who she was.”

“Yes. I gathered as much myself,” Abe replied, turning toward the bathroom. The tub was already filled. He looked dry and pale and needed to recuperate.

“She was going to kill herself the night we met.”

Abe stopped, hand on the doorframe, fingers splayed out and he could see the thin membrane of webbing between them. They almost looked translucent. The ichthyo sapien stared over his shoulder at Allen, big black eyes hard to read.

“She was alone by choice for a very long time. She didn’t want others to suffer the same fate she was forced to live. Solitude can do a number of things to a person’s mental health. She was not well at the time.” He canted his head back a little. Perhaps he was looking at the tub inside the bathroom. “She might have realized this. Maybe that’s part of the reason she didn’t force you to leave. Maybe…it felt as though she used you as an excuse to not kill herself. So long as she had a ward to help, a survivor to look after, she pushed all other thoughts to the side. Her focus had been on keeping you alive. It…might have lessened her focus on the deterioration of her health.”

Allen tried to swallow and found his throat was dry and it was painful, a length of sandpaper was lodged inside and scraping away at him. His hands were shaking and he tried focusing on steadying them as he scooped up the coins, holding them aloft by the leather cord. They softly clinked against one another, looking innocuous enough despite the dark history they were imbued with.

_The one thing she loved was me. She loved me more than she could ever love herself._

His throat pinched tightly together at the thought. It was all too familiar a feeling and it hit closer to home than he would have liked to admit.

She’s seen too much and blamed herself for every little mistake, every failure, every death. It always lingered, no matter much she wanted to forget. That feeling would never go away, even if the memory of those she lost faded altogether. A part of him could feel it still, the lingering after effects of delving into those memories and it felt like a heavy ball of iron thorns in his chest.

Every breath hurt, every beat of the heart ached, every twist or turn was subject to the prick of the pointed tips.

No matter how much she wanted to quit, wanted to walk away, she never could bring herself to commit. She always went back out, always to help whoever ended up on Yamatai, himself included. She always tried to move forward, in spite of the pain she felt. He felt a little sick in finding out that she contemplated killing herself just to end it. Everyone had their breaking points. She had been reaching hers.

_If I had never wound up on Yamatai…she might not be here._

He wished he knew, even if he wasn’t there now, that she was going to be all right, that she’d pick herself back up again, that she’d try to keep going.

He wished the Doctor was here.

They could have sent her another ship to scavenge. Another video to encourage her. To tell her he was alive. That it wasn’t her fault, that none of it was her fault. That he never blamed her.

He wasn’t okay with being a werewolf, but it wasn’t her fault and he was coping with it. She wasn’t the one who bit him, after all.

He didn’t want her giving up because of him. Not when she’s come so far.

He doubted they’d be able to get that done. Not now, at least.

But f there was at least one thing Allen wanted to tell her most of all, if he was able to ever get a message to her, it was that he just wanted her to keep fighting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Notes: When I say that Ash is pretty fucked up, I mean she is pretty damned fucked up. She has been beaten and broken down so many times, it's not funny. She's come so close to just ending it all, terrifying close, and it's the result of living in a constant war zone. So, in a way, Allen saved her from offing herself, kept her somewhat sane.  
> 
> So many F-bombs. So much cursing. Ash would not apologize and neither do I.
> 
> Also, this got waaaaay out of hand, but I didn’t want to break this up into parts. I don’t know why, but it wouldn’t have felt right if I had.


	43. Say When

**Say When**

She’s been picking at her hair for a while. He’s picked up on it in the last few days. Maybe she’s been doing it longer, but Allen wasn’t quite sure. Maybe it was a tic, he mused.

He let it be for the time being, determined to not say anything at first. But, sometimes he caught himself watching from the corner of his eye as the days passed, and it got to him after a while, making him realize something: watching Ash tug and pull and worry at her hair reminded him that his hair probably wasn’t looking any better.

Not that Ash’s hair was haggard or shaggy in any way. It was actually surprisingly healthy and full and well taken care of. It was about as well-groomed as her tail. She’s made combs and brushes from the bones of the giant herd animals, with bristles from the stiff hair of boars. They varied from the wide-spaced teeth made for quick fix brushes to the fine-toothed ones that could untangle just about anything, although not as gently as one would like. And just like anything Ash has made, they were all hand-carved and given little flourishing details. The ones she’s given him freely for his own use were carved in the likenesses of a bear and a wolf, respectively. She kept the dinosaur-themed ones for herself, once more saying he probably would have welcomed something different than what was seen on Yamatai. It was such a small gesture, and one that most would have overlooked as unimportant, but he cherished the thoughtfulness regardless.

Allen ran a hand through his own hair, frowning as he felt the layered lengths threading along his fingers. In the past, he’s tried to keep up appearances and take especial care of his grooming. It was mostly due to Mana, and even partly due to Cross. Here on Yamatai, however, such luxuries that he once had—whether through the Order directly or through winnings via his card gambling or even when Cross had managed to snag something on their travels—were rarities. Ash has figured out ways of making soap here on Yamatai, although scavenged materials were never passed up. It was her way of alleviating the troubles of living on a deserted, out-of-the-way destination such as this place.

“What’re you doing over there?”

He startled out of his thoughts at the sound of Ash’s voice, turning his head to look over at her. She had scraped up her hair into a loose, low-hanging ponytail since he last noticed her.

Over time, Allen has observed Ash on days she did this. She normally vied to having her hair pulled higher up on her head when she wanted it out of the way. That was when she had good days, when her arms and shoulders cooperated. Tying back her hair the way she had it now, however, was low-maintenance and easier on her hurting joints. Today must be one of those days.

That also usually extended to exploring, scavenging, hunting, and gathering of supplies and food. There most definitely wouldn’t be any climbing of any sort going on today.

Allen shook his head, belated noticing he had been asked a question, and felt his cheeks dust over with a little more heat.

“Nothing. I was…what’re you doing?”

She cocked a brow at him, offering her infamous, ‘ _are you stupid_ ’ looks as an answer. He groaned quietly to himself, realizing instantly that yes, yes it was a stupid question. Allen dropped his gaze momentarily.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a pair of scissors somewhere, would you?” 

When he met her gaze, her expression had morphed to something akin to curiousity rather than critical examination. Allen motioned to his hair, long and hanging over his shoulders and down his back. While he tried to keep his grooming habits up at first here on the island, it was difficult, even with the alleviations Ash provided. The combs had been a much-needed help, as were the leather cords Ash gave him to tie back his own hair. He’s not since paid much attention to its length, only at keeping it out of the way, combed to a semblance of tameness, and cleaned as best he could manage with the limited supplies they each had.

Ash studied him briefly, blue-grey and gold boring into him. Then, whatever chore Ash had been attending was dropped on the dime. She turned on her heel, disappearing into one of the guest rooms that had been temporarily renovated as a storage room. He heard her rustling about inside for a few minutes, and he was almost tempted to get up to follow and help. She returned just as he was getting up, a pair of requested scissors in hand. He opened his mouth to thank her, but clacked his jaw shut when she twirled a finger, motioning for him to sit back down.

Allen hesitated, dubious as he did as he was directed, and watched as she fetched an empty, clean bucket by the stone stove, disappeared into the wash cave, and came back out. She put the bucket into his arms and inside it, water sloshed, filled about a quarter of the way. She crawled up onto the back of the couch to sit behind him, settling her pawed feet on either side of him. Ash tapped his shoulder. “Bucket up.”

“What’re you—wait, I can do it—”

“Bucket. Up.” She repeated firmly, her tone indicating no room for argument. Tentatively, he once more did as she bade him. She leaned forward, her natural body heat beating pleasantly against his backside as she dipped a comb in hand into the water. She leaned away, the heat once more retreating. She began to gently run the comb through his hair. He winced at a few snarls he had missed earlier that morning, but she was patient and thorough. She repeated the process a few times with the bucket request until he was sure his hair was damp. He heard snips every so often, the gentle tug on his hair making his scalp tingle.

Ash worked in silence, only interrupting it to ask him to turn his head this way or that, or to keep it straight and look ahead. She didn’t even come around when she snapped at the hair along his brow, but she didn’t seem to need to. She did just fine from where she was.

After nearly twenty minutes, she stopped, crawled away from behind him, looked him over once, nodded, then left. He sat there, bewildered. He reached up to touch at his hair. It was still long, he noted, but it was much short than it had been before. He could still pull it back, but it was no longer what he felt was a mess. It felt neater, tamable.

Ash returned momentarily after he finished inspecting, a small mirror with a handle in hand. She held it out to him and he gratefully took it, wasting no time. It was just as he suspected; it was less a mess to look at. He couldn’t quite see the back, but he knew it to still be long, well past his shoulders. He handed the mirror back to her, smiling.

“Thank you. Really, you didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugged, tucking the mirror, comb, and pair of scissors together.

“You’ve been picking at your hair for a day or two. Kind of hard not to notice.”

He refrained from wincing at her comment. 

“I was only doing it because I noticed you doing it yourself,” he retorted. Her brows arched in surprise, and she grumbled something, looking away and plucking a strand of hair framing her face. Her expression morphed into a grumpy look, ears flaring back and her tail whipping back and forth in agitated arcs.

“I know it looks stupid,” she muttered. “Poofy and thick and _long_.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think it looks stupid,” he offered. She glanced at him, a brief flick of the eye. She turned on her heel again, perhaps intent on returning all the procured items she had on hand to their rightful homes.

“Whatever. I’ll take care of it if it’s been bothering you.”

“I didn’t say it was bothering me, Ash! I only noticed you’ve been plucking at it the last few days. That’s all.” 

She stopped in her tracks, casting a look over her shoulder at him, face unreadable. He stood, setting the bucket still in his hands down, and took a few steps closer, careful to keep some distance between them. Sometimes, she could be…unpredictable…when she was like this. She waited. That was a good sign.

He motioned to her hair, dangling at her backside. It really was long, nearly surpassing her lower back. How she’s managed to not snag it on things while living here, he’d never know. He didn’t intend to find out for himself. He wasn’t going to let his own hair grow that long.

“If you’d like, I could return the favour. It probably won’t be the best cut in the world, mind, but at least it’d probably be a bit better than you doing it for yourself.”

She continued to study him, scrutinizing quietly, although she turned a bit towards him. Interest was slowly smouldering in her gaze, thoughtful consideration taking root. Ash glanced at the items still in her hands, back up at him, then a tug at her hair. She repeated the process once more, then nodded to him, crossing the space between them and holding everything out.

“Fine, then. You’ll probably just keep bothering me about it if I don’t do anything,” she said, with a resigned sigh. 

 _Well that was…surprisingly easy_ , Allen thought, bemused. Usually Ash took time to mull over things, mostly those that involved him helping her. Even in any way that was mundane in any sense, she took time to think about. This moment barely took any thought at all.

Ash was finally warming up to him. He almost found himself grinning at the small victory, but stopped himself short. There’d be time for that later.

Ash settled in the same spot on the couch he had sat on, and he grimaced at the sight of white locks scattered all over the cushions.

 _We’ll have to clean that up_ , he told himself. He settled himself on the back of the couch, the same as she had done minutes ago. Ash was slow to tug the leather piece holding her hair, her movements deliberate, stilted. He reached to help, but just as he did, her hair came loose, freed of its prison and fluffed out. She grabbed the bucket and held it up just high enough for him to lean forward and dip the comb in. He hesitated, staring down at the mass of mahogany and crimson tresses. She hadn’t even asked how much he had wanted trimmed down for his hair, she had just done it and to the point where he would have liked it. How she knew, he would probably never know.

He was not so sure about her hair, how much she wished to have trimmed down.

“Ash, how much do you want—”

“Until the red’s gone.”

She was succinct and to the point, telling him without hesitation marring her voice. He stared back down, frowning. That was more than half her hair. If he cut it all off, her hair would be cut down to the length of her shoulders. He tried to imagine Ash with hair that short and just couldn’t picture it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated, hands lingering in the air. After a while, she glanced over her shoulder, gold eye flashing with mild annoyance, lips pursed tightly.

“If you can’t or won’t do it, I’ll do it myself. You don’t have to, Allen.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…a lot to get rid of.”

Her lips quirked into another hard, thin line, while her eyes flashed angrily. Somehow, he had a feeling it wasn’t directed at him. “I hate it,” she said quietly. “This…red colour staining my hair. Like blood. It’s just another reminder of what I am.”

“I…I don’t think I understand, Ash. What do you mean by that?” 

“You don’t remember from the journal, do you?”

“Remember what?”

“What mixed colours for a werewolf means.”

Allen thought on that, digging deep for what she had meant before it slowly dawned on him, snippets of information coming to a crawl across his head.

“…oh…that’s…I see. I remember now.”

Werewolves who were bitten carried a piece of their Sire with them in the form of pelt and hair colour. For Ash, that meant the deep red that coloured the tips of her hair, her tail, and her ears. It looked almost exotic from afar, the deep mahogany and russet browns of her natural hair, mixed with the crimson on the tips—but for Ash, it was a constant reminder that she had to look at every day, was aware of at all times. The werewolf who bit her must have had the same deep red colourations.  

“If you want it gone, then I can do that,” he said at last, surprised to find his voice so quiet as he rewet the comb and turned back to run it through her hair, just below the crimson.

He knew a thing or two about disliking one’s hair colour, after all. It was a feeling he felt a strange kinship with her on the matter. He remembered, early on in his travels with Cross, trying to dye away the white in his hair. But then, the dye would fade quickly, much too quickly, and barely lasted throughout the day. Even the expensive brands couldn’t last a full day, and even with help from others who knew how to apply it properly. He’s since given up trying. He wondered if Ash had done something similar when she had first found her hair changing; trying to turn it back to the way it was, to erase the damning red stains in her hair.

Somehow, he assessed it wasn’t the time to ask. It didn’t seem appropriate, especially considering how she most likely wouldn’t remember. He quietly tucked away any questions he had and carefully, began snipping away at the red.

She had more hair than him, and it was thicker than he had originally believed. It took longer for him to get at every stray lock of red. It ended up drastically shortening the length of her hair, until it was just above her shoulder blades, and just below her shoulders. Even the long, wild bangs that framed either side of her face and nearly touching her shoulders were now feathering away at her cheekbones instead.

Ash looked almost like a completely different person. Allen was a little shocked at what a few snips of the scissors could do, yet he doubted he looked much different than usual. He handed back the scissors on reflex, and only after he noticed Ash staring at him intensely, an eye brow cocked up and lips pursed expectantly. She picked up the mirror that she had laid on the table, quietly inspecting herself at every angle she could get to, plucking at the ends of her hair. Then just as quietly, she put it back down, along with the scissors, and began collecting the clumps of red mixed with white. Allen hurriedly got off the couch and began to help, needing no other prompting.

“Thank you, by the way.”

He stopped, hand halfway towards a particularly large collection of hair on the ground. Ash, predictably, didn’t stop. She didn’t even look at him. She simply kept going, deliberate and nonstop in her movements. He stared for a moment, before dipping his head in a nod.

“It’ll come back. It always does, but…I won’t have to look at it for a day or two. So…thank you.”

Allen found it easier to smile than he would have originally believed. These moments of quiet peace were favourably better than the days where the air felt taut and electric, like a bowstring that was about to be released. She was still reserved on some fronts, but he could feel a kind of warmth from her that hadn’t been there before.

They quietly finished cleaning up, bits of red and white lingering and maybe spots of dark brown here and there. The refuse was tossed, the area picked over again just in case, and the materials for the impromptu barbershop put away. Allen took a few moments to watch the werewolf as she returned, noting how drastic a difference it was to see her without all that red and length to her hair. Another few moments passed before he got up, an idea striking him.

Ash was hardly surprised when he came prowling over by her. She was surprised when he gently laid a hand on her forearm, telling her stay turned around. Ash froze, head tilted to glance at him from over her shoulder, eyes narrowed, lips drawn into a thin line, ears splayed back.

“Just—trust me, please? I have one more thing to do for you.”

Her lips quirked as she ticked a brow, and the gears were ticking away in her skull. Finally, she turned around, her back to him. He reached up, hesitant at first. He steeled himself and began scraping back her hair, careful and mindful of her twitching, swiveling ears.

“What do you think you’re—”

“One last thing to help, is all. Just stay. And stay still. That means ears as well.”

Ash made a small disgruntled noise, but she stayed put for the moment with her ears locked straight and forward, bemused as he continued pulling her hair back. Wordlessly, in less than a minute, he’d pulled all the hair that could be coaxed to the back of her head. He quickly tied it off with a leather cord. The werewolf didn’t move when he finished and stepped away, not at first. She simply stood there.

The seconds ticked by before she moved, and when she did, it was slow and deliberate, a hand rising to gingerly probe at the ponytail. She turned to face him at last, a question alit in her mismatched eyes. His lips tugged into a brief smile.

“I noticed you’ve been having troubles the last few days. With your arms, I mean. I’m guessing that’s why we haven’t really been out lately.”

“How did you…?”

Allen shrugged, offering another smile. “I would like to believe I’ve been around long enough to pick up on your good days and your bad days when it comes to your physical capabilities.” He paused, allowing for that to sink in before continuing, “I know that you don’t much care being touched, but…I could help, if you’d let me. Maybe work out any knots or tension in your muscles? It could ease a bit of the pain. I can only imagine you’re experiencing plenty enough.”

Ash said nothing at first. She simply stared at him, her gaze guarded, her thoughts locked up tight. She didn’t even so much as frown at him, either in puzzlement or disapproval. The longer she allowed the silence between them stretch on, the more likely it felt as though she was going to reject his offer. Allen knew that Ash truly disliked extended contact, that it wasn’t appreciated, good intentions or not. There was a sensitivity to one too many things that hid behind a wall of rugged irritability, something most people didn’t get a chance to get past, and one they didn’t want to bother with at all.

But then she did something unexpected, even by his standards.

She smiled.

It was a genuine thing, not one of her tight-lipped, half-smiles that didn’t even show teeth. Here, he caught a glimpse of them, a thin row of white and at the corners of her lips her fangs poked out.

Allen found himself smiling back, relaxed and relieved. She ducked her gaze and a quiet huff of breath whooshed past her lips. 

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: It's the little things that can make a big difference.


	44. Fish

**Fish**

There were few rivers on Yamatai that were relatively peaceful enough to fish from. Most were littered with detritus from shattered bridges, old planes, broke-down war trucks and more. That, coupled with the insanely powerful currents, it made taking a swim incredibly foolhardy and stupid. _Very_ stupid. Not even Ash was insane enough to go diving into the waters.

And she went diving off cliffs for _fun_.

Allen was so used to the dangerously roaring torrents that seeing more peaceful and sluggish rivers and streams were always a welcoming, if sometimes surprising, sight. It was almost like he was peeking into a different world entirely, a place with soft edges and no danger, a scene straight out of a picture book instead of a hostile warzone where almost everything wanted to kill you.

Ash once said this place was the island version of Australia because of that. Allen had never once been to Australia before, so he could only take her word for it. It was one of the few major countries he and Master Cross hadn’t visited in their travels. It had once been on the list, but that had been before Allen was sent to the Black Order’s headquarters. He never got the chance to conduct a mission there, either. The closest he could say he got was perhaps through Reever, who was a native of the country, but even he hadn’t been back home to his country in years. Not since joining the Order.

At the moment, Allen and Ash were taking a rest by one of those sluggish rivers, bringing in a haul of secondary supplies for home; bundles of wood for arrows, bits of metal shards and hard rock for arrowheads, plants that could be consumed or used for medicinal properties, bones for miscellaneous tools that they couldn’t fashion out of metal nor wood…

Well, that wasn’t quite right. Allen was resting. Ash was…restless.

As usual.

When they both should have been taking a break, she was still hunting for materials. Reeds and water tubers, sweet grass, even bark. She was nothing, if not effective at finding out the uses of things. She even managed to find unused bullets from time to time, and would pocket them or put them into the proper magazines that corresponded with the proper weaponry she owned.

He watched as she came back, a small weaved basket in hand with her collected goods and deposited it by her pack.

“Why don’t you sit and rest? Isn’t that the point of us stopping?”

“I stopped us for your benefit,” she simply said. His eyes widened a little, his lips curling into a displeased frown as he made a soft noise in the back of his throat. She perked a brow up at him.

“I’m not so delicate that I need a break to rest up every five minutes,” he retorted, disgruntled.

“We haven’t rested since nearly yesterday morning when we set out.”

“I can handle things until we get back.”

“I don’t doubt you can. I also don’t want you collapsing from exhaustion on me because you decided to hide it.”

She tilted her head at him, daring him to challenge her. He felt heat dusting across his face at her remarks. It was true, to an extent. Ash was extremely hardy, her inhuman nature allowing her to greatly surpass human limitations. Even Allen sometimes had troubles keeping up with her—even if he didn’t like broadcasting it, and often times didn’t, she somehow figured it out long before he did. Where he began peaking a stopping point, she was still ready to go, with miles of energy to burn through. She could go for weeks without sleep, food, or drink before it began to affect her negatively. At the same time, however, the longer she allowed herself to forgo taking care of herself, the more she’d need to replenish her reserves. More food, more drink, more sleep. And werewolves needed food, Ash included. It was not an unfamiliar likeness he shared with her.

At the very least, she was one of the very few who wasn’t startled or daunted by how much he needed to eat, as she ate just as much. All she had to do was double the amount to support the both of them.

He felt his face flush a little more when his stomach decided to chime in at that very moment, reminding him of his hunger. He decided it would be as good as any time for a distraction as he reached for his bag and began rummaging through it to find his rations. It wasn’t enough to fill him, but it’d be just enough to stave off the worst of his hunger until they got back home.

Movement caught his eye just as he felt his fingers scrape against Trike-skin hide that was wrapped around his rations. He looked up and plucked out the hide wrap. Ash was strolling toward the slow-moving river, snatching up a lengthy and thick branch as she went. She immediately flicked out one of her knives and began carving away at one of the ends into a sharpened point, pausing at the edge of the water until she was done. The blade went back into its sheath at her side.

Curious now, Allen watched as she waded slowly, deliberately, out into the water until it was up to her thighs. Her tail was held up and high above the water, casting a stark slab of shadow behind her in the otherwise pristine and sun-struck surface of the river. Ash swung her head back and forth, scanning something in the river’s depths, ears slowly swiveling atop her head as she stared. Her body moved at a glacial pace, the hand holding the makeshift spear out and at the ready at her side.

When she struck, it was blindingly quick. Allen almost thought she hadn’t lashed out, if it weren’t for the wriggling fish flopping uselessly at the end of it a few split seconds later. Ash glanced back over her shoulder at him, a ghost of a smile flashing across her face in triumph. The werewolf slowly waded her way back to shore, soaking wet from the thighs-down. The fish’s futile struggle was beginning to slow, its mouth gaping open and closed as she approached. It was a fat little thing, nearly two feet long and its scales shimmering a dull silvery-brown when light struck it directly. It was not going to be enough to feed either of them, not in the long run. A good several dozen would probably suffice better for a proper meal.

Just thinking of a buffet of a fish made him miss Jerry’s cooking and his mouth water a little and guilt seeped in at the edges of his hunger. He hasn’t thought of Jerry in _years_. Not directly, anyways. The edge of his hunger curbed as the guilt tried to worm its way deeper into him in its place.

“Start making a fire,” she said, wagging the spear just a little bit. “And make it snappy.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you did it?” He grumbled back.

Her smile was filled with utter amusement when she flashed it his way. “I could, but the thing is, I’m not always going to be around to be your little firestarter, Allen. You shouldn’t always be so eager to have me in the wings, waiting to do the hard work.”

She winked, and he caught a flash of dimples in her cheeks when he opened his mouth to argue that that wasn’t the case—only to be shushed into silence by Ash before he could start. She waved a hand at him, a motion for him to get going right before she stabbed the blunt end of the spear into the ground, letting the now-limp fish to dangle. Ash promptly turned on her heel to return to the river, repeating the process of snatching up a branch and crafting it into another makeshift spear. Allen stared after her up until she reached the edge of the river before he quickly stuffed the last of his rations into his mouth. He began hunting for kindling as well as suitable firewood for sustainable burning.

Thankfully, he was in a forest as he began his search and he didn’t have far to look for fallen branches, twigs, dried brush and bark and grass. Every time he came back to drop off his bundles, he found more fish, all of them pierced on the first spear Ash had used. She kept utilizing the second spear she had crafted.

It didn’t take him long to find enough firewood for what he suspected would be a short stay in the area, just long enough to cook the fish.

Allen barely startled when he heard the sudden intrusion of a cough-bark sounding off directly behind him. He turned to find Spectre, Creed, and Mana staring at him, standing in a spot of sunlight that had pushed through the treetop veil and made its way to the ground.

Creed’s plumage consisted of steely blue with gunmetal grey striping accents to his feathers. In the early mornings, when visibility was low and heavy with fog, his muted colours helped hide him easily in near-plain sight. The only visibly and glaringly bright feature on his body was the crimson display on his chest, shaped in the outline of a diamond, almost, with a break at its bottom peak. It was a strange, if endearing decorative feature that helped easily identify the Dakotaraptor. Just like the others, Creed was sleek-bodied and slim of build, and while he wasn’t the biggest in the pack—Carver held that title alone with none of the others coming in close to his weight or height class—he was certainly the fiercest. He held his position as leader without contenders to challenge him. Not even Carver, with his height and weight both giving him an advantage in fights, would challenge the smaller Dakotaraptor. Creed was the de facto and absolute holder of the position.

Spectre was the shimmering ghost of white with speckles of black and gray frosting his feathers here and there. He once saw a bird with similar markings in his travels. Master Cross had said it was a snowy owl; a very rare bird indeed that preferred colder climes in the north, where the land of the ice and snow ruled. Seeing one in Europe had been unusual, but perhaps it had once been a poorly kept pet of a misguided aristocrat who thought it appropriate to cage such a creature, only to have it rightfully escape. He wondered if Ash had ever seen a bird like that or if she knew of its existence. He doubted any snow owls made their travels this far south. The temperature on Yamatai alone wouldn’t have made it a preferable place to live, never mind the weather and hostile inhabitants.

And Mana…

It was always hard to pin that name on the Dakotaraptor, no matter how long he’d been around the raptor. He’s slowly grown used to it, however—especially the muted violets and lovely light lavenders mixed with dove grey striping accents upon his plumage. It seemed such an out of place look for the raptor. He felt that Mana would have been more at home in the foliage of a more tropical clime, where there were more brightly coloured things to hide amongst. Just as he believed Spectre would have been more at home where there was a constant intake of snow and ice and cold, something better suited for his plumage than this place.

They were all a strange, eclectic mixture of odds and ends—like a menagerie of different coloured buttons being mashed upon a motley-patchwork piece of clothing. They looked odd when they stood out alone, but together, it somehow…worked. If not for camouflage or practical reasons that correlated with their environment—then it surely scared the ever-living hell right out of the Solarii. Even the Oni sometimes seemed hesitant on banking into a battle with the raptors. They were, above all else, efficient and silent killers that scared him more than the rexes or any of the other myriad of predators on this island did.

Now three of them were staring at Allen with those alien gazes of theirs. Not quite reptilian, although close enough to almost qualify as avian, but also not quite that either. It was a strange mixture of everything on top of their unblinking relentlessness. If looks could kill, he supposed everything would have been dead a hundred times over when the raptors laid eyes on them.

They were still as still could be, so much so that Allen couldn’t tell if they were even breathing or if they had somehow become statues. The raptors had patience. They could wait for hours before striking a killing blow. Ash was very much the same way, when her restless energy had waned in lieu of that patience. When it came to hunting, however, Allen was quite sure who was the one who taught who. They had millions of years’ worth of coding imbedded into their instincts that they depended upon. While they themselves weren’t that old, in comparison to humans and even werewolves, both he and Ash were not even infants in comparison to their prowess.

Yes, that could be largely why the raptors scared him a little more than the rexes, more than even he cared to admit or linger on. The rexes were big and loud, yes…but they couldn’t open doors. They could stomp flat any hiding place you were in, but at least you could expect that. Carmilla could do more than that, sure, being a hybrid with bits and pieces of raptor genes herself. The raptors, on the other hand, were pure-bred, through and through. They could manage ambushes, flanking maneuvers, battlefield-level tactics that he once thought were only reserved for humans—and grudgingly, he’d admit of the Akuma as well, as they were being powered by human souls at their rotted cores. The raptors could follow you, watch and plan around your every move before they struck, and you wouldn’t know any better until it was too late. Maybe not even then, if they could help it.

When the raptors ran for you, you were already dead. You just didn’t know it yet.

Allen watched the raptors, realizing that for every one raptor that stared at him from the front, at least two were flanking him from one side or both. That meant the rest of the pack was here as well, in hiding. He shot a parting glance around him and caught sight of Carver’s large frame and rust red and gunmetal grey plumage stalking closer. Alongside him was Clover, her plumage bright and peppy green like the foliage around her. Out of all the raptors, she was the best suited for the greenery around them.

To his other side, Allen saw Sol and Luna, the nearly-inseparable duo. He wasn’t too sure if they were related or if they were mates—even Ash wasn’t sure of that—but they were always together. Like night and day, they were always together, like the celestial phenomena they were coined after. Luna paused to preen one of her arms, spreading out the black feathered forelimb, while Sol stopped and waited, craning his golden head toward her. He uttered a soft warble, patient as ever. They all seemed relaxed, and even Allen could tell that they weren’t hunting him. They were creeping closer, yes, but he didn’t sense menace or ill-intent. It was something he learned to discern as much as he could in the beginning, when he first began living on Yamatai.

A shrill scream hit the air like shattering glass suddenly and he whirled to see Mana diving for the spear filled with fish. Allen lurched forward on instinct, but Clover was smacked into him like a brick wall, soundlessly having covered the several meters of distance between the two of them in a heartbeat. He went sprawling, the wind knocked out of him long enough to have him struggle for the next breath. She towered over him, craning her head over to peer at him with one large golden and unblinking eye, purring softly. He glowered half-heartedly at the Dakotaraptor perched nearly atop of him. His attention waned when movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

Mana snatched up the spear and easily yanked it from the ground, hoisting it and his stolen prize in the air proudly between his teeth. He heard Ash shouting from the river, barking orders like mad—but the raptors were already fleeing into the forest with their easily stolen prize, hissing and screaming as they went in triumph. Clover was the last, darting away in an instant to disappear with the rest of the pack. The next thing he knew, Ash was helping him sit up, gently patting his back until he waved her away, sucking in his breath slowly in painful sips.

Sometimes, the raptors forgot that as much he could give and take damage about as well as any above-average human, he could still bruise when hit hard enough. And they liked to hit hard, even when at play.

 _Or maybe they like to pretend to forget that_ , he thought ruefully, although his ire didn’t stay long enough to linger. Ash backed off before he waved her away, perhaps already sensing he was fine and gave him enough space. She stared out glumly into the forest where the raptors had disappeared off to.

“Assholes.”

He snorted softly, drawing her gaze back to bear on him.

“At least it wasn’t one of the other predators and only them.”

He stared at her, boggled. She waited, then realizing he well and truly forgot, waved a dismissive hand, as though to disregard his lapse. “You forget that this is close to Bary territory.”

“Remind me again what those are…?” He had so many dinosaur names—and shortened abbreviated variations of them—jumbling about in his head, it was hard to remember who was who sometimes. Especially those that he rarely encountered or interacted with often.

“Baryonyx. Roughly the three meters in height, a good nine in length, giant hooked talon on the front limb perfect for fishing…” She twirled a hand at him, her expression growing exasperated as he stared blankly back before shaking his head. She sighed and amended with a motion in front of her face, like making a thin and long snout, “Crocodile face.”

That helped click the scattered pieces into place. “Oh! Oh, _those_ things.” He made a face and took a more cautious look to pan across the sluggish river beyond the two of them. It was empty and quiet and above all, deceptively peaceful. “They can be nasty.”

He’s only ran into one of the things twice in the last few years. Twice was enough. They mainly survived off of a mostly pescetarian diet, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to hunt any passing red meat—dinosaur or otherwise. It helped them some that they were vicious things, territorial and big and they really did resemble crocodiles with their long, thin toothy snouts. They weren’t as big as the rexes, mind, but big enough that they could snap a man in half with those powerful jaws, or rend them to pieces with those hooked claws of theirs.

Ash waved a hand at him as he returned his gaze on her. She appeared nonchalant about the whole ordeal.

Typical.

“They aren’t around. They’re elsewhere. These waters are too shallow, even for them, and they rarely make passes through here. It’s close to their territory, but I don’t expect them to come near here. Not with the asshole brigade out here, making their rounds.”

Allen snorted at Ash’s endearing nickname for the pack. She only used it when they were being especially ornery and their actions moments ago certainly qualified.

She sighed, long and loud and drawn out as she shook her head and stared down at the length of wood in her hand.

“Just—get the fire going. I’ll see if I can’t round up some more fish.” She said as she started to turn away, back toward the river.

“I can help,” he offered quickly, without second thought. Ash paused, considering him from over her shoulder. He flashed her a smile, hoping it would relax her into appealing to the idea. It rarely worked—she always seemed so immune to straight up charm and wit alone. She wasn’t easily swayed or impressed by it, but sometimes…sometimes it helped. Especially nowadays, where things were easier between them. Less tense and snappish and ready to draw blood at any moment.

“You know how to fish?” She asked him pointedly, a brow raising in question. He shrugged his shoulders at first before bobbing his head into a nod.

“More or less. It’s not that hard.”

She snorted, derisive and unconvinced. His smile faltered, nearly flashing into a tight frown at her skepticism.

“I _can_ fish, you know. If you’d stop to ask what I can and can’t do sometimes, perhaps you wouldn’t always be surprised with what’s within my skill range.” Allen smiled again, but with a bit of slyness tucked away at the edges of it. “Then again, I do rather enjoy watching your reactions when you find out something new about me. At least I know then I can still surprise you.”

“Really,” she replied flatly, still looking somewhat unconvinced—but now there was a hint of doubt and curiousity in her gaze. Even amusement was there, as though she was beginning to entertain the idea of letting him help fish up some fish.

“Remember the…what did you call it again? Ah, yes. The pretzel incident.”

Allen would admit, he gained a bit of a secret delight in seeing Ash pale ever so slightly, and also at the way she averted her gaze to mutter under her breath. He didn’t catch what she said, but he understood the gist of it. Who knew Ash, the woman who could bring down the armies of the Solarii and the Oni all in one go without batting an eye at all the blood and gore galore, could be so squeamish when it came to a few contortionist tricks?

It was a bit hilarious, actually—but he schooled his face into yet another charmed smile instead of laughing at her. If he laughed, she’d sulk and not let him help at all.

Plus, he was bored. Doing something other than menial tasks such as hunting for fire wood would take his mind of a myriad of things he didn’t want to think about. And there was a great deal he wasn’t ready to think about.

Ash was still watching him, although her indecisive expression had finally molded into one of conclusion. She nodded to him.

“All right, come on, then. Make yourself a spear.”

He felt another smile tug at his lips at that.

“Who needs a spear when I have these?”

Before she had even turned back around to ask him what he meant, his left hand had already changed, leaving behind any sight of red fingers that were replaced by silvery bladed digits. The cowl of Crown Clown did not settle around his shoulders as it usually did. Instead, it seemed to sense his intent and hovered close by, the silvered mask nestled snuggly at the base of the hood like an oversized brooch. Ash stared between him and the hovering cloak before her expression fell flat as she lingered on his bladed fingers.

“You know, if I didn’t know you any better than I did, I’d say you’re trying to overcompensate for something.”

As his grin vanished in an instant, one swept its way across her face, even as he felt his cheeks heat up and grow pinker at her remark.

“That’s not funny.”

“I thought it was. And FYI, it’s not the size, it’s how you use it.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.” She paused, her grin turning sly. He recognized that look. It was the same one she wore when she challenged him to something. Chess, Monopoly, Candyland. All the games back at home. Except for poker. Poker was his and his alone.

“I gather you’re about to offer a wager?”

“Hey, the best one I got so far. One hour, whoever fishes up the most, eats the most. No needing to share.”

Now that got his attention. There was one thing he had to admit of Ash; she knew just how to hit him in the right ways.

 _Food_.

Food was a good place to start.

“I think I might have to take you up on that. I have one thing to add…”

“What’s that?”

He held up his blade-riddled hand, giving each digit a slight wiggle. “No spears.”

She stared at him, expressionless for the longest time, before a smile slowly curled her lips upwards.

“Like I said,” she started to say, dropping her spear with an unceremonious plop on the ground. She held up her hand, and he saw her fingers—already long and thin—extend out and thicken slightly with a light downy of fur spread across her tan skin, reaching down to end at her elbow, right where her sleeves were rolled up and for once, bare of her bracers and hidden blades. Her nails lengthened out and grew dark and curved until they were black talons. A faint taste of her shapeshifting abilities in action. It was much slower, and it sounded painful. He heard bones cracking and creaking, even from where he stood. Ash didn’t even seem to notice. She was used to it. Her smile remained in place, her eyes now both flashing gold with mirth. “It’s not the size of things. It’s how you use them. You’re on. Time starts now.”

** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: What nerds, am I right? A chapter on the lighter end of things, to break up the monotony of angst and suffering. 
> 
> Also, enjoy the messy sketch. I'll upload and updated with a more refined version when I get to it. Should be soon!


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